Underworld: Last Stand (McShep, AU, R)
Title: Underworld: Last Stand
Word Count: ~5,900
Pairings: John/Elizabeth, John/Rodney, traces of Ronon/Teyla
Rating: R for violence
Summary: For centuries, all John Sheppard wanted was to take revenge for the death of his best friend. Now his chance has come, but nothing works out as planned.
Notes: This is a self-indulgent crossover with Underworld and Underworld: Evolution. In the first movie, Viktor's daughter Sonya appears to be pregnant from Lucian, so I'll be going with the assumption that it's possible to be born either Vampire or Lycan (Werewolf).
Uh, this is bloody. And, needless to say, contains some spoilers for both movies. You should be perfectly able to read it even if you didn't watch them, though.
~~~
Cover by forcryinoutloud
Underworld: Last Stand
In the early days, before the war, there were two boys. One of them was a Vampire, the other a Lycan. It was in a time when Lycans were the Vampires' daytime guardians, little more than slaves, but in the way children often have, the two boys didn't care much about that.
They were friends.
"I hope they'll let me stay with you," the Lycan boy said. "I'll protect you."
He concentrated briefly, and decapitated a few grass blades with his claws.
"Yeah."
The Vampire child hoped so, too.
~~~
"John."
John turned away from the window, smiling at Elizabeth as she walked into the room. Her long, auburn hair was shimmering even under the ugly brightness of the overhead light, and her red dress practically clung to her body as she moved. He ran a hand lightly down her naked back, satisfied at her shiver.
"What's the news?" he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle her neck.
"Marcus is dead," she answered with a quiet gasp, and he froze for a second before he pulled back.
"Are you sure?"
"His brother's body and… remnants of his own have been found." Elizabeth visibly pulled herself together, raising her chin to look at him with her usual air of cool competence. "The genetic tests were positive. It's him."
"He was the last of the Elders." A spark of excitement flared deep inside John's chest, something he hadn't felt for centuries. "The covens will be in uproar. Someone will have to step up and take control."
"John," she broke into his exhilaration, "you have no way of knowing it will be Andreas."
He laughed. "Oh, believe me, this chance is far too god for him to pass on. No, this is exactly the kind of thing Andreas has always been waiting for. He'll come."
"But he's almost as old as Viktor was." Elizabeth looked up at him, concern in her green eyes. "Are you sure you will be a match for him?"
"Elizabeth, I've been waiting for this hundreds of years. I've trained; I'm stronger, faster than ever before. I can take him. If I get to him before he's instated as an Elder," before seven Vampires sacrificed their blood to the strength of their new leader, "he won't even know what killed him."
"Just be careful. That's all I ask."
John leaned in again to press a quick kiss against her lips.
"I will," he promised. "Send Teyla in, would you?"
"Yes."
Another brief kiss, and she was gone. The door had closed after her for barely a minute before it opened again, and Teyla strode in, gracefully kneeling before him. John sighed and shook his head. She was his oldest friend, had been with him for centuries, but sometimes the two of them still butted heads over silly things.
"I told you to stop that," he admonished her with a grin. "You're my friend, not my servant."
"I believe I am not the one who needs to be reminded of that fact," she replied, and rose in a fluid movement that could have made a geisha green with envy. "Elizabeth said you sent for me?"
"Perhaps my choice of words was a bit… hasty," he allowed, and she smiled impishly as she inclined her head. "Look, Teyla, that Lycan contact of yours, what's his name?"
"Ronon."
"Right. Ronon. Would you do me a favour and ask him to have his people watch the northern covens? I'll send our guys to keep an eye on the southern clans."
"Do you believe that Andreas will take advantage of the current situation to seize power?" Teyla asked, and John nodded, a grim smile playing around his lips.
"Yes. And when he steps up, I fully intend to be there."
Four days later, the Lycans reported Andreas' arrival at the Toronto coven. John smiled and took the first flight over there, accompanied by Elizabeth and Teyla. Elizabeth, because she'd said she wanted to be there for him in case of… accidents, and Teyla, because in the four hundred years since he'd turned her, she had followed him wherever he went, quiet strength at his side.
"Stay here," he told them as he left the house he'd rented for the three of them, large rooms illuminated by cold, bright light. Most Vampires preferred candles, but John had hated the flicker of open fire for centuries. In his book, electric light had been one of humanity's greatest inventions.
Toronto was bright at night, full of cars and lights and people, but not in the part of the city where the coven was located. John leaned against the wall of a nearby building as he stared at the large mansion with its huge, iron gate and the short gravel driveway. It was dimly lit, people moving in front of the windows, but not as many as he'd feared. Getting in there would be hard enough, the last thing he needed were more Vampires to fight before he got to Andreas.
He'd need all his strength for that one.
He started to walk towards the mansion, noting the absence of dogs, of guards to keep the ground secured. The Toronto coven wasn't prepared for an attack.
"John. Wait."
John jerked his head towards the voice, hand already hovering over his gun. A figure stepped out of the dark; a Lycan, broad-shouldered and muscular, wearing a dark green shirt that looked at least two sizes too big instead of the skin-tight clothes others like him preferred to wear, his eyes an unusual blue for his kind.
"You're here to kill Andreas, right?" the Lycan asked, practically bouncing with excitement. "I can help you with that. I, uh, I'll protect you."
The nerve of some guys, John thought, and told him in no uncertain terms, "Piss off. I don't need protection."
He walked on, leaving the Lycan to hurry after him.
"No, wait, I want to-"
"I don't give a damn about what you want," John snapped. "I don't even know who you are, and I don't care. Just stay the fuck out of my way."
The Lycan flinched back like John had punched him, hurt and disappointment flickering over his face. John ignored it, stopping in front of the iron gate, just outside camera range. He didn't have the time for overeager strangers.
"But I can-"
"McKay." Ronon appeared out of the shadows, a giant of a man even in human form. He spared John a brief glance, then turned towards the other Lycan. He growled, "Let's go."
"But-"
"It's his fight." Another quick glance in John's direction, then the huge Lycan shrugged. "He doesn't want us here."
McKay glowered at both of them, sniffed, and stomped off into the darkness without another word.
"Good luck." Ronon nodded at John, then he followed his friend into the night's shadows. John turned back to the mansion, already forgetting them, concentrating instead on the enemy he knew was in there somewhere.
Andreas.
~~~
A scream tore through the night, making the boys shiver.
"They are branding the adults tonight," the young Lycan whispered. "The ones who have been given to their owners."
They were sitting on a hill outside of their town, far enough not to smell burnt flesh, but still close enough to hear the pained shouts.
"I will be branded one day. I think it will hurt." The Lycan's eyes were large and frightened as he whispered the words.
"But it will be my mark," the Vampire promised, but his friend shook his head.
"You don't know that. They can give me to anyone."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant screams.
"I could mark you right now," the Vampire boy finally said. "Then they couldn't take you away."
The Lycan snorted.
"Right. Because you have a white-hot iron in your bag, just in case you might have to brand me."
"I have a knife."
Slowly, the words sunk in. The Lycan child looked up, fear and hope warring in his eyes.
"Are you sure that'll work?"
"Yes," the Vampire promised without hesitation. It had to work, therefore, it would. After a long moment of indecision, his friend nodded, and began to unlace his shirt.
"All right. Do it."
The Vampire pulled out his knife, brushing his hand over the smooth skin of the Lycan's back.
"Don't move."
The Lycan tensed, but didn't say a word. Lips pressed together in concentration, the Vampire boy rested the tip of the blade against his friend's right shoulder, and started to cut.
~~~
Getting in had been almost too easy. None of the coven's members apparently expected an intruder, not even on one of the most important nights they'd ever live to see. John sneaked through dimly lit rooms and along shadowed corridors, his hands never far from his guns. Finally, he found what he was looking for in a dark office, cluttered with heavy furniture and expensive computer equipment. He held his breath.
At the large panorama window, a man was standing, his back turned to John. Waiting for him.
"John Sheppard. It's been some time since we last met, hasn't it? I believe it was in Rome, when I nailed you to a cross right in front of the Vatican." Andreas' voice was low, amused, and John couldn't entirely suppress a hateful hiss. "You are a little late, I fear. You already missed the main event."
And indeed, the Vampire's figure radiated power, evidence that the ceremony had already been held with unusual haste. John growled, hating what this could mean, hoping his suspicions were wrong.
"How did you know?" he demanded.
"I told him."
A second Vampire stepped out of the shadows, walking over to the man at the window to stand beside him.
Elizabeth.
"It's for the best, John," she said. " Your need for revenge has made you blind to reality. The clans need stability, not chaos."
"And you went to Andreas for that? Andreas?" John almost laughed at the irony of her betrayal. That way, it didn't hurt that much. "Couldn't you have chosen another one for your politics?"
She raised her chin.
"I have made my decision."
"Well, it was the wrong one."
With that, he drew his weapons, putting everything he had into speed. He still wasn't faster than Andreas, who leaped to the side at John's first movement, but it was more than enough for Elizabeth. The UV rounds slammed into her, making her body jerk with the force of the bullets. She opened her mouth for a scream, but instead of a sound, all that came over her lips was blood, splashing darkly over her pale chin. Then she crashed to the ground, limbs twitching rapidly for a long moment, before she finally lay still in a growing pool of red.
John ejected the spent magazine, already holding a new one to reload, but he was too slow. A vicious blow against his head sent him staggering, the blue glowing ammunition spinning across the floor as it was knocked out of his hand. Another hard blow, this one against his stomach, had him fold up, and then he was sprawled across the floor, hands wet with Elizabeth's blood, as Andreas threw him to the side without apparent effort.
"You're weak," the new Elder commented as he walked over to him, and John would have to agree if he hadn't suddenly been all out of air, the other Vampire's heel crushing his windpipe. He scrabbled around for something, anything, he could use as a weapon, his fingers tangling in Elizabeth's hair, closing around the heavy decorative comb she had been wearing. With a strength born from desperation, he thrust it deep into Andreas' calf, lurching to his feet as the other Vampire pulled back with a shout.
John staggered as he started for the window, hearing Andreas' angry hiss behind him. Then he jumped, arms crossed in front of his face as he crashed through the glass, turning in mid-air to land on his feet on the lawn two storeys below. He didn't make it, though, the impact slamming the air from his lungs when he hit the ground on his back, shards glittering in the light of the streetlamps as they rained down on the grass around him. And now there were dogs barking, people shouting as alarms started to sound.
A hand around his upper arm yanked him up, sent him stumbling towards the wall that surrounded the mansion's grounds.
"Move!"
It was the Lycan from before, McKay, looking around nervously before he started to run, dragging John with him.
"Where the-"
"Don't talk, move!"
John ran, fingers scratching uselessly against the wall as the Lycan simply threw him up and across it, landing on his back once again on the other side. He blamed the spots that were still dancing in front of his eyes, born from pain rather than a necessity to breathe. A Vampire didn't have any real need for air, but the head, along with the heart, was a vulnerable target.
McKay pulled him gracelessly to his feet again, and then they were running, running, away from the shouts and into the night. They were both panting by the time they reached relative safety, and John yanked his arm out of the Lycan's grasp with a furious hiss.
"Stay the fuck away from me!"
"Excuse me?"
But he didn't listen to the Lycan's enraged splutter as he stomped off, turning towards the muffled sounds that promised humans, light, and, most importantly, taxis.
"Yes, you're very welcome," McKay shouted after him. John ignored him.
It was almost dawn when he got home, the bruises across his body already fading, but not the ones his pride had taken. Teyla took one look at his face and followed him into his bedroom, where she watched him pace in agitation until he finally broke.
"So close," he whispered as he turned to her, his voice shaking, "I was so close."
Teyla put her arms around him, and after a moment's hesitation, he let himself be pulled into an embrace. She ran a gentle hand up and down his back to still the tremors that were wracking his body, and he was surprised to find himself clinging to her, close to crying.
"The day will come when you will take vengeance for the murder of your friend," she promised with quiet conviction.
John shook his head, burrowed his face into her neck, and against her skin, whispered his most shameful secret.
"I don't even remember his name."
~~~
"They killed her!"
The boys had not quite turned into men, their faces still soft where their bodies had begun to develop the hard muscles that spoke of adulthood. The scar on the Lycan's shoulder had paled with time, standing white and raised against the rest of his flesh.
The cut mark had been met with amusement and indulgent pats on the Vampire's shoulder: if he wanted to claim a slave as his property so badly, Viktor had said, he should be allowed to keep him.
They thought it was greed. They could keep on thinking that, if it meant that the Vampire got to make sure his friend was safe.
If it meant he could reach out and touch, trying to chase away his friend's agitation. But the Lycan would not be calmed.
"They killed Sonya! Right in front of her guardian, too!"
He drew in a trembling breath, shaking his head like denial would change anything. The Vampire reached out again, hand brushing over the Lycan's shoulder in a soothing gesture as he drew him into a light embrace. He knew what this was about.
"Lucian escaped," he said. "They say there'll be a war, that the Lycans won't be our slaves anymore."
The Lycan shivered, hid his face in the Vampire's neck. It muffled his words when he whispered, dejectedly, "But I'm yours, right?"
John pulled the shaking body of his friend closer, rested his chin on top of the blond head as he gently stroked his hands up and down the Lycan's back.
"Yes. You're mine."
~~~
Two days later, Andreas sent a note.
Let's end this, boy, once and for all. I am growing tired of your antics.
A.
The meeting place was, in the tradition of all big city showdowns, an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Toronto. John went alone, despite Teyla's pleas to the opposite. Or, well, at least he'd thought he went alone.
"You're late, aren't you."
McKay, strolling out of the darkness to match John's pace as they walked towards the warehouse.
"You again. I told you I don't need protection."
"Yes, well, forgive me if I disagree, but your last fight didn't exactly look like the definition of casual superiority you've probably deluded yourself into believing it was. Besides, perhaps I'm just here to watch."
"Sure you are."
"I could be."
John stopped in front of the door that would lead him into the warehouse, glaring at the Lycan he just couldn't seem to get rid off.
"I mean it, McKay. Stay out of the way."
"Yes, yes, fine." McKay gave an insincere little wave, and followed John into the warehouse. True to his word, however, he stayed right next to the door, waiting, watching.
"Ah. There you are. I was wondering if you had changed your mind."
Andreas stepped out of the darkness, grinning, a long metal whip in his hand.
"Never," John spat, reaching around to draw his gun. Before he could shoot, though, the whip was already cracking through the air, knocking the weapon out of his hand and sending it spinning across the floor. John turned, flinging himself out of the way as the whip flashed towards him, pulling his knife from its sheath, sending it flying in Andreas' direction. It hit the flesh of his wrist with a satisfying thump, and the Elder cursed as he dropped the whip, grabbed the handle, and pulled the blade out again in a spray of blood, looking up just in time for John to hit his jaw with a furious blow. Andreas staggered, then hissed, furious, moving faster than John had ever thought possible, driving the bloodied knife deep into John's side.
With a pained shout, he went down.
"John!" Growling, McKay changed, his face stretching as hair started to sprout all over his body and his features became those of a wolf, mouth filled with sharp fangs, his shirt suddenly tight over expanding muscle. Roaring in anger, the Lycan leaped away from the door and at Andreas, ripping his claws across the Vampire's belly and leaving deep gashes behind.
John pulled out the knife with another pained shout, let it drop from shaking fingers and looked around for his gun, finally spotting it a good twenty feet away. He struggled to his feet, stumbling over to the weapon, only to fall to his knees again when a hard kick from Andreas sent McKay flying through the air right above John's head. The Lycan crashed into a row of shelves with a yelp, not rising again as cans and tools came cluttering down on top of him.
"This has gone on long enough."
Andreas' face was a mask of anger as he turned to face John, who had staggered to his feet again, still too far away from his gun, blood still dripping from the slowly closing wound in his side.
John's hands felt terminally empty. He prepared for his death as the sharp, heavy point of the whip shot towards him, aimed straight at his heart.
It never reached him.
"McKay!" Ronon was suddenly there, shouting as the other Lycan slumped to the ground in front of John, the whip's spiky end embedded firmly in his chest. His furred body jerked helplessly, blood flowing faster as Andreas yanked at the weapon, getting it free not quite in time to fend off Ronon, who had leapt at the Vampire, changing in mid air. The mighty jaws snapped shut just inches from Andreas face as the Vampire stopped him with his bare hands, crying out as the Lycan's claws ripped into his side.
A furious push sent Ronon flying back against the far wall, however, and although the Lycan jumped back onto his feet immediately, Andreas was faster. He swung his whip, and it hissed through the air, the sharp spike unerringly finding its target.
Ronon gurgled as the metal sank deep into his throat, destroying bone and cartilage alike. Blood sprayed across the floor as Andreas pulled, ripping through at least one carotid artery as the spike tore free of the surrounding tissue. Ronon took a tumbling step forward, then a shudder ran through his massive frame, and he started to keel over. He was dead before he hit the ground. Andreas barked a short laugh, raised the red-dripping whip and turned towards his last opponent.
And John's UV rounds blew off half of his head.
Andreas' body hit the ground with a satisfyingly final thump. John stood, breathing heavily, still pointing his weapon just in case some unholy miracle happened and Andreas stood up again, but the Vampire lay still, slowly bleeding out, and John allowed himself to relax. The wound in his side had all but closed, only aching a little when he moved. He tucked his gun back where it belonged, and turned around to McKay.
The Lycan had changed back into his by now familiar human form, lying prone and unmoving on the cold floor, dark blood around him glistening in the lamplight. John briefly rested his fingers against McKay's neck, sighing as he felt the slow, fluttering pulse. In all honesty, he would have preferred if the guy had been dead - he hated owing people. But the fact remained that McKay had saved his life, so he reached down and picked the unconscious body up to carry him to the car.
With a little luck, he could repay the favour right away, and then they'd never have to cross paths again.
Teyla raised one elegant eyebrow as John walked through the door with a Lycan over his shoulder.
"See what you can do, would you?" He spotted a nice, large table and dumped his cargo right onto the smooth surface. Blood had oozed through McKay's shirt and into John's own, and his back and shoulder felt sticky. The Lycan's face looked pale and grey in the harsh light, the whole front of his torn shirt red with blood.
"I'll have to cut this away," Teyla commented, hesitantly fingering the hem of the shirt. John shrugged.
"It's ruined anyway."
Teyla nodded, pulled out one of her knives, and set to work as John stepped over to one of the large windows. The night seemed even darker than earlier that evening, thick clouds covering the moon. It should be raining, he thought, listening to the quiet sound of Teyla's knife slicing through fabric. Rain always seemed more fitting for nights of epic battle.
He closed his eyes, just for a second. Andreas was dead. After centuries of waiting, John had finally gotten his revenge. The satisfaction he'd expected wouldn't come, but it was only a matter of time. Maybe after the adrenaline had faded.
"I killed him for you," he whispered, imagining in the window's glass the picture of a blond boy with bright eyes and a crooked smile. "You can rest now."
And maybe he could, too.
"John. Please, take a look at this," Teyla called him, quietly, and he turned away from the window, crossing the room with a few quick steps. She had finished cutting McKay's shirt open, and had turned the Lycan's body so he was lying half on his side to strip it off.
"What?" John asked, but then he saw it, and his heart started to pound painfully in his chest. There, on the Lycan's shoulder, thin and faded almost into invisibility, was a scar: a crude J in a wobbly circle, inexpertly carved by a child's hands.
With a shaking hand, John reached out.
~~~
"Abomination," Andreas hissed.
The young men flinched apart, hurrying into a respectful bow.
"My lord." John hesitated, then he added defiantly, "We did nothing wrong."
He jumped up when his friend was dragged to his feet, fists clenching at his side, only respect for the Elders holding him back.
"No? Then what would you say this is?" Andreas ripped the Lycan's shirt, hauling him around to point an accusing finger at the pale scar. "An owner's mark? Or a lover's?"
He sneered, and John felt his heart jump with fear even as he tried to explain, "It's nothing! We're friends, there's nothing wrong with that!"
"There is no friendship between Vampires and Lycans!" Andreas hissed. "The mere thought is an abomination against nature!"
With a careless snap of his fingers, he turned to the guards, pointing at the Lycan.
"Kill him."
"No!"
John lunged forward, but two guards seized hold of his arms, yanking him back, away from his friend. Torches flickered in the dark as the Lycan boy was dragged away, kicking and screaming, trying to turn in his captors' cruel hold to look at John.
"John!"
A brutal slap across the face from Andreas silenced him as he was carried off into the darkness, away from John, who struggled cursing and yelling in the guards' grasp.
Moments later, a terrible scream echoed through the night, only to end with a whimpered gurgle. John pulled against the arms that held him, tears streaming over his face.
"No! Rodney! Rodney!"
~~~
"Rodney," he whispered as his fingers brushed over the mark, lightly, hesitant.
The smooth skin felt cool under his hand, damp with sweat, and Rodney didn't move at his touch.
"We have to help him," John said helplessly, finding little comfort in Teyla's assuring nod.
"Ronon will know what to do."
"Ronon's dead." She stopped what she was doing, her small hand resting on Rodney's blood streaked side. John regretted his short answer; he knew what it felt like to lose someone important. "I'm sorry."
"As am I." Teyla nodded, just once, her face betraying nothing as she resumed to cut the ruined shirt away from Rodney's arm. "Please hold him." Gently, she turned Rodney on his other side to repeat the process while John held his friend, finally pulling away the last shreds of fabric.
"There is a doctor, a Lycan. Maybe he will be of assistance."
"Where?"
He barely waited for her to finish explaining before he ran out of the house and to his car, speeding off into the night. The damn doctor lived almost on the other side of Toronto, and John paid no attention to either speed limits or red lights as he drove through the darkness.
Any policeman who would have dared to stop him right then wouldn't have survived.
The house he finally stopped at with screeching tires was small, unremarkable, a perfect place to hide. John left the car running, not bothering to knock as he tore through the front door and into the living room of a very startled man, who blinked up at him from where he was sitting on a ratty old sofa.
"Are you Beckett?"
"Yes?"
"Good. I need your help, grab your stuff."
He grabbed the lapels of the man's shirt and dragged him up, putting him on his feet in a none too gentle way.
"But I don't treat Vampires!" Beckett protested, words rolling with a thick Scottish accent.
"You'll have to treat yourself if you don't stop bitching and come with me, now!"
The doctor didn't need to be told again, hurriedly grabbing a large bag and wrenching it open.
"What kind of injury are we dealing with?"
"Chest wound."
Beckett nodded, stuffing a few more things into the already overflowing bag, and then it was off again into Toronto's thankfully sparse late night traffic.
Teyla had moved Rodney upstairs when they returned, carefully placing him on John's generous bed, a sheet spread over the lower part of his body to keep him warm.
"Oh, dear Lord," Beckett tut-tutted as he saw the wound, hurrying over to the bed and spreading medical paraphernalia from his bag around it within minutes. He cleaned, sterilised, and treated the gaping hole in Rodney's chest, but nothing he did seemed to help much.
"Shouldn't it be closing around now?" John asked, worried. He didn't know much about Lycan physiology, but he could sense that something was wrong. Beckett sighed.
"It's not that easy, son. He isn't a Vampire; you can't just drip blood on the wound and hope for the best."
During the whole treatment, Rodney's eyes hadn't so much as fluttered, his face slack and pale. John let out a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the fear he was feeling.
"There's got to be something you can do."
"He has lost a lot of blood," Beckett said gently, his voice full of sympathy. "He's still fighting, but his body is shutting down, little by little. Now, if we can keep him alive till full moon, the moonlight should do the trick, but until then, there's nothing much we can do."
"That's three nights from now," John protested.
"Aye. I never said it'd be easy, lad."
And it wasn't. John didn't dare go to sleep, not even when the afternoon sun made the edges of the heavy curtains in his bedroom glow. He didn't want to miss it if Rodney… during the day… well, he just wanted to be there. He couldn't believe that he hadn't recognised him, the familiar line of his mouth, those blue eyes he had known so well. Even if Rodney's face had lost the slenderness of his youth, it was still him, still Rodney, and John could have kicked himself.
If he'd just listened, if he'd just looked properly, they could have been together; instead, he was forced to watch his friend slip away a little further with each passing hour. The bitter outcome of John's foolishness. Beckett stayed with them the whole time, trying his best to keep Rodney alive. He kept transfusing blood, injecting drugs, reviving the Lycan when his heart stopped beating yet again. He didn't bandage the wound, though, explaining that closing it up would do more harm than good when the time came to uncover it again, so that the moonlight could work its magic and heal the torn flesh.
It was hard not to lose hope during those three days, and John, staring at Rodney's expressionless face, had to admit at least to himself that he didn't manage. But his friend kept clinging to life, if barely, proving that despite all changes that might have occurred over the last centuries, he hadn't lost any of his stubbornness.
Then the full moon rose, and Teyla pulled the curtains aside, inviting its light into the room. The pale rays reached through the darkness, caressing the still figure on the wide bed, letting the open wound on his chest appear a stark black against the whiteness of the surrounding skin. John held his breath, waiting for the wonder to happen.
It didn't come.
He looked at Beckett, helpless, and the doctor shook his head.
"Och, Rodney, what are you doing now?"
"What? Why isn't he-"
A sharp gasp from the bed interrupted him, and John turned his head just in time to see Rodney's body arch up from the mattress hard enough that it looked like his spine might break under the strain.
"Rodney!"
He started towards the bed, but Beckett held him back with surprising strength.
"Don't."
"But-"
Rodney let out a long, hoarse moan, fists clenching and opening, fingernails growing into claws and back. His skin turned dark, fur starting to grow, only to disappear again. Another moan, then Rodney collapsed like someone had cut the invisible strings that had kept him suspended over the mattress, his body lying still and pale once again.
The wound in his chest was gone.
"Rodney." This time, Beckett let him stumble over to the bed, all grace gone, smothered by dread and hope as John dropped to his knees beside the Lycan, picking up a warm, broad hand and telling himself not to feel for a pulse.
Everything would be all right. There was no need to be nervous.
Rodney stirred, ever so slightly, letting out his breath in a small sigh. He frowned lightly, then his eyes opened, slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room with a confused gaze, finally focussing on John.
The Vampire blinked back the burn in his own eyes, smiling at his friend for the first time in centuries.
"John," the Lycan whispered, clasping his hand with surprising strength.
"Hey, Rodney," he whispered back with forced casualness, and there was the crooked smile he remembered so clearly, surprised and happy, turning the room brighter than the moonlight ever could.
"Yours," Rodney breathed, his grip tightening, and John pressed a quick kiss to the hand he was still holding, apology, promise, connection, sighing as Rodney's smile grew even brighter.
"Yes. You're mine."
~~~
"Lie still."
The gruff words did little to soothe Rodney's agitation, but each movement jarred where Lord Andreas had driven the sword deep into his guts, and so he let himself sink back into his nest of blankets spread across the cold floor.
Some lord. Not even checking if Rodney's wounds were truly fatal, instead dumping him with the trash to die. But the Lycans were rebelling, leaving their former masters, and one of them had picked Rodney up on his way out of the small town, and now he was recovering, ever so slowly, thinking of John.
He just hoped nothing had happened to him, but his friend had always treated the Lycans well, and Rodney simply had to believe that they had repaid that kindness with mercy. By now, Vampires and Lycans alike would have left the town, anyway, scattered into the four winds. It would be impossible to find a single, unimportant Vampire in this chaos, but if Rodney could somehow stick close to one of the older ones, sooner or later his friend might turn up.
Knowing John, his best bet would be Andreas.
"I can hear you think from all across the room," his saviour commented from his place by the fire, clearly amused.
"Yes, it's a habit," Rodney snapped back, but without real venom. A plan was beginning to take form in his head, and making at least a few allies seemed to be a vital part of it. "Say, what's your opinion on, uh, 'payin' back them bastards' by concentrating on a single, powerful adversary?"
"Is this about your friend?" the large man asked back, and, in the spirit of making allies, Rodney decided to be honest. He nodded.
"Don't worry. You'll find him." Which wasn't an answer to his question, but the man was still grinning, so Rodney counted it as a first step in the right direction. "May take a while, though," the man added.
Yes, obviously, but that was nothing unexpected. Rodney would just have to lay low, take his time, and wait. Sooner or later, if he was careful and John didn't do anything stupid, one of them was bound to find the other.
One day, they'd meet again. He had to believe that.
~~~
End. And I'd like to imagine that this (manip by mystisblom and one of the inspirations for this story) is the very near future.
Word Count: ~5,900
Pairings: John/Elizabeth, John/Rodney, traces of Ronon/Teyla
Rating: R for violence
Summary: For centuries, all John Sheppard wanted was to take revenge for the death of his best friend. Now his chance has come, but nothing works out as planned.
Notes: This is a self-indulgent crossover with Underworld and Underworld: Evolution. In the first movie, Viktor's daughter Sonya appears to be pregnant from Lucian, so I'll be going with the assumption that it's possible to be born either Vampire or Lycan (Werewolf).
Uh, this is bloody. And, needless to say, contains some spoilers for both movies. You should be perfectly able to read it even if you didn't watch them, though.
~~~
Cover by forcryinoutloud
Underworld: Last Stand
In the early days, before the war, there were two boys. One of them was a Vampire, the other a Lycan. It was in a time when Lycans were the Vampires' daytime guardians, little more than slaves, but in the way children often have, the two boys didn't care much about that.
They were friends.
"I hope they'll let me stay with you," the Lycan boy said. "I'll protect you."
He concentrated briefly, and decapitated a few grass blades with his claws.
"Yeah."
The Vampire child hoped so, too.
~~~
"John."
John turned away from the window, smiling at Elizabeth as she walked into the room. Her long, auburn hair was shimmering even under the ugly brightness of the overhead light, and her red dress practically clung to her body as she moved. He ran a hand lightly down her naked back, satisfied at her shiver.
"What's the news?" he murmured, leaning down to nuzzle her neck.
"Marcus is dead," she answered with a quiet gasp, and he froze for a second before he pulled back.
"Are you sure?"
"His brother's body and… remnants of his own have been found." Elizabeth visibly pulled herself together, raising her chin to look at him with her usual air of cool competence. "The genetic tests were positive. It's him."
"He was the last of the Elders." A spark of excitement flared deep inside John's chest, something he hadn't felt for centuries. "The covens will be in uproar. Someone will have to step up and take control."
"John," she broke into his exhilaration, "you have no way of knowing it will be Andreas."
He laughed. "Oh, believe me, this chance is far too god for him to pass on. No, this is exactly the kind of thing Andreas has always been waiting for. He'll come."
"But he's almost as old as Viktor was." Elizabeth looked up at him, concern in her green eyes. "Are you sure you will be a match for him?"
"Elizabeth, I've been waiting for this hundreds of years. I've trained; I'm stronger, faster than ever before. I can take him. If I get to him before he's instated as an Elder," before seven Vampires sacrificed their blood to the strength of their new leader, "he won't even know what killed him."
"Just be careful. That's all I ask."
John leaned in again to press a quick kiss against her lips.
"I will," he promised. "Send Teyla in, would you?"
"Yes."
Another brief kiss, and she was gone. The door had closed after her for barely a minute before it opened again, and Teyla strode in, gracefully kneeling before him. John sighed and shook his head. She was his oldest friend, had been with him for centuries, but sometimes the two of them still butted heads over silly things.
"I told you to stop that," he admonished her with a grin. "You're my friend, not my servant."
"I believe I am not the one who needs to be reminded of that fact," she replied, and rose in a fluid movement that could have made a geisha green with envy. "Elizabeth said you sent for me?"
"Perhaps my choice of words was a bit… hasty," he allowed, and she smiled impishly as she inclined her head. "Look, Teyla, that Lycan contact of yours, what's his name?"
"Ronon."
"Right. Ronon. Would you do me a favour and ask him to have his people watch the northern covens? I'll send our guys to keep an eye on the southern clans."
"Do you believe that Andreas will take advantage of the current situation to seize power?" Teyla asked, and John nodded, a grim smile playing around his lips.
"Yes. And when he steps up, I fully intend to be there."
Four days later, the Lycans reported Andreas' arrival at the Toronto coven. John smiled and took the first flight over there, accompanied by Elizabeth and Teyla. Elizabeth, because she'd said she wanted to be there for him in case of… accidents, and Teyla, because in the four hundred years since he'd turned her, she had followed him wherever he went, quiet strength at his side.
"Stay here," he told them as he left the house he'd rented for the three of them, large rooms illuminated by cold, bright light. Most Vampires preferred candles, but John had hated the flicker of open fire for centuries. In his book, electric light had been one of humanity's greatest inventions.
Toronto was bright at night, full of cars and lights and people, but not in the part of the city where the coven was located. John leaned against the wall of a nearby building as he stared at the large mansion with its huge, iron gate and the short gravel driveway. It was dimly lit, people moving in front of the windows, but not as many as he'd feared. Getting in there would be hard enough, the last thing he needed were more Vampires to fight before he got to Andreas.
He'd need all his strength for that one.
He started to walk towards the mansion, noting the absence of dogs, of guards to keep the ground secured. The Toronto coven wasn't prepared for an attack.
"John. Wait."
John jerked his head towards the voice, hand already hovering over his gun. A figure stepped out of the dark; a Lycan, broad-shouldered and muscular, wearing a dark green shirt that looked at least two sizes too big instead of the skin-tight clothes others like him preferred to wear, his eyes an unusual blue for his kind.
"You're here to kill Andreas, right?" the Lycan asked, practically bouncing with excitement. "I can help you with that. I, uh, I'll protect you."
The nerve of some guys, John thought, and told him in no uncertain terms, "Piss off. I don't need protection."
He walked on, leaving the Lycan to hurry after him.
"No, wait, I want to-"
"I don't give a damn about what you want," John snapped. "I don't even know who you are, and I don't care. Just stay the fuck out of my way."
The Lycan flinched back like John had punched him, hurt and disappointment flickering over his face. John ignored it, stopping in front of the iron gate, just outside camera range. He didn't have the time for overeager strangers.
"But I can-"
"McKay." Ronon appeared out of the shadows, a giant of a man even in human form. He spared John a brief glance, then turned towards the other Lycan. He growled, "Let's go."
"But-"
"It's his fight." Another quick glance in John's direction, then the huge Lycan shrugged. "He doesn't want us here."
McKay glowered at both of them, sniffed, and stomped off into the darkness without another word.
"Good luck." Ronon nodded at John, then he followed his friend into the night's shadows. John turned back to the mansion, already forgetting them, concentrating instead on the enemy he knew was in there somewhere.
Andreas.
~~~
A scream tore through the night, making the boys shiver.
"They are branding the adults tonight," the young Lycan whispered. "The ones who have been given to their owners."
They were sitting on a hill outside of their town, far enough not to smell burnt flesh, but still close enough to hear the pained shouts.
"I will be branded one day. I think it will hurt." The Lycan's eyes were large and frightened as he whispered the words.
"But it will be my mark," the Vampire promised, but his friend shook his head.
"You don't know that. They can give me to anyone."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the distant screams.
"I could mark you right now," the Vampire boy finally said. "Then they couldn't take you away."
The Lycan snorted.
"Right. Because you have a white-hot iron in your bag, just in case you might have to brand me."
"I have a knife."
Slowly, the words sunk in. The Lycan child looked up, fear and hope warring in his eyes.
"Are you sure that'll work?"
"Yes," the Vampire promised without hesitation. It had to work, therefore, it would. After a long moment of indecision, his friend nodded, and began to unlace his shirt.
"All right. Do it."
The Vampire pulled out his knife, brushing his hand over the smooth skin of the Lycan's back.
"Don't move."
The Lycan tensed, but didn't say a word. Lips pressed together in concentration, the Vampire boy rested the tip of the blade against his friend's right shoulder, and started to cut.
~~~
Getting in had been almost too easy. None of the coven's members apparently expected an intruder, not even on one of the most important nights they'd ever live to see. John sneaked through dimly lit rooms and along shadowed corridors, his hands never far from his guns. Finally, he found what he was looking for in a dark office, cluttered with heavy furniture and expensive computer equipment. He held his breath.
At the large panorama window, a man was standing, his back turned to John. Waiting for him.
"John Sheppard. It's been some time since we last met, hasn't it? I believe it was in Rome, when I nailed you to a cross right in front of the Vatican." Andreas' voice was low, amused, and John couldn't entirely suppress a hateful hiss. "You are a little late, I fear. You already missed the main event."
And indeed, the Vampire's figure radiated power, evidence that the ceremony had already been held with unusual haste. John growled, hating what this could mean, hoping his suspicions were wrong.
"How did you know?" he demanded.
"I told him."
A second Vampire stepped out of the shadows, walking over to the man at the window to stand beside him.
Elizabeth.
"It's for the best, John," she said. " Your need for revenge has made you blind to reality. The clans need stability, not chaos."
"And you went to Andreas for that? Andreas?" John almost laughed at the irony of her betrayal. That way, it didn't hurt that much. "Couldn't you have chosen another one for your politics?"
She raised her chin.
"I have made my decision."
"Well, it was the wrong one."
With that, he drew his weapons, putting everything he had into speed. He still wasn't faster than Andreas, who leaped to the side at John's first movement, but it was more than enough for Elizabeth. The UV rounds slammed into her, making her body jerk with the force of the bullets. She opened her mouth for a scream, but instead of a sound, all that came over her lips was blood, splashing darkly over her pale chin. Then she crashed to the ground, limbs twitching rapidly for a long moment, before she finally lay still in a growing pool of red.
John ejected the spent magazine, already holding a new one to reload, but he was too slow. A vicious blow against his head sent him staggering, the blue glowing ammunition spinning across the floor as it was knocked out of his hand. Another hard blow, this one against his stomach, had him fold up, and then he was sprawled across the floor, hands wet with Elizabeth's blood, as Andreas threw him to the side without apparent effort.
"You're weak," the new Elder commented as he walked over to him, and John would have to agree if he hadn't suddenly been all out of air, the other Vampire's heel crushing his windpipe. He scrabbled around for something, anything, he could use as a weapon, his fingers tangling in Elizabeth's hair, closing around the heavy decorative comb she had been wearing. With a strength born from desperation, he thrust it deep into Andreas' calf, lurching to his feet as the other Vampire pulled back with a shout.
John staggered as he started for the window, hearing Andreas' angry hiss behind him. Then he jumped, arms crossed in front of his face as he crashed through the glass, turning in mid-air to land on his feet on the lawn two storeys below. He didn't make it, though, the impact slamming the air from his lungs when he hit the ground on his back, shards glittering in the light of the streetlamps as they rained down on the grass around him. And now there were dogs barking, people shouting as alarms started to sound.
A hand around his upper arm yanked him up, sent him stumbling towards the wall that surrounded the mansion's grounds.
"Move!"
It was the Lycan from before, McKay, looking around nervously before he started to run, dragging John with him.
"Where the-"
"Don't talk, move!"
John ran, fingers scratching uselessly against the wall as the Lycan simply threw him up and across it, landing on his back once again on the other side. He blamed the spots that were still dancing in front of his eyes, born from pain rather than a necessity to breathe. A Vampire didn't have any real need for air, but the head, along with the heart, was a vulnerable target.
McKay pulled him gracelessly to his feet again, and then they were running, running, away from the shouts and into the night. They were both panting by the time they reached relative safety, and John yanked his arm out of the Lycan's grasp with a furious hiss.
"Stay the fuck away from me!"
"Excuse me?"
But he didn't listen to the Lycan's enraged splutter as he stomped off, turning towards the muffled sounds that promised humans, light, and, most importantly, taxis.
"Yes, you're very welcome," McKay shouted after him. John ignored him.
It was almost dawn when he got home, the bruises across his body already fading, but not the ones his pride had taken. Teyla took one look at his face and followed him into his bedroom, where she watched him pace in agitation until he finally broke.
"So close," he whispered as he turned to her, his voice shaking, "I was so close."
Teyla put her arms around him, and after a moment's hesitation, he let himself be pulled into an embrace. She ran a gentle hand up and down his back to still the tremors that were wracking his body, and he was surprised to find himself clinging to her, close to crying.
"The day will come when you will take vengeance for the murder of your friend," she promised with quiet conviction.
John shook his head, burrowed his face into her neck, and against her skin, whispered his most shameful secret.
"I don't even remember his name."
~~~
"They killed her!"
The boys had not quite turned into men, their faces still soft where their bodies had begun to develop the hard muscles that spoke of adulthood. The scar on the Lycan's shoulder had paled with time, standing white and raised against the rest of his flesh.
The cut mark had been met with amusement and indulgent pats on the Vampire's shoulder: if he wanted to claim a slave as his property so badly, Viktor had said, he should be allowed to keep him.
They thought it was greed. They could keep on thinking that, if it meant that the Vampire got to make sure his friend was safe.
If it meant he could reach out and touch, trying to chase away his friend's agitation. But the Lycan would not be calmed.
"They killed Sonya! Right in front of her guardian, too!"
He drew in a trembling breath, shaking his head like denial would change anything. The Vampire reached out again, hand brushing over the Lycan's shoulder in a soothing gesture as he drew him into a light embrace. He knew what this was about.
"Lucian escaped," he said. "They say there'll be a war, that the Lycans won't be our slaves anymore."
The Lycan shivered, hid his face in the Vampire's neck. It muffled his words when he whispered, dejectedly, "But I'm yours, right?"
John pulled the shaking body of his friend closer, rested his chin on top of the blond head as he gently stroked his hands up and down the Lycan's back.
"Yes. You're mine."
~~~
Two days later, Andreas sent a note.
Let's end this, boy, once and for all. I am growing tired of your antics.
A.
The meeting place was, in the tradition of all big city showdowns, an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Toronto. John went alone, despite Teyla's pleas to the opposite. Or, well, at least he'd thought he went alone.
"You're late, aren't you."
McKay, strolling out of the darkness to match John's pace as they walked towards the warehouse.
"You again. I told you I don't need protection."
"Yes, well, forgive me if I disagree, but your last fight didn't exactly look like the definition of casual superiority you've probably deluded yourself into believing it was. Besides, perhaps I'm just here to watch."
"Sure you are."
"I could be."
John stopped in front of the door that would lead him into the warehouse, glaring at the Lycan he just couldn't seem to get rid off.
"I mean it, McKay. Stay out of the way."
"Yes, yes, fine." McKay gave an insincere little wave, and followed John into the warehouse. True to his word, however, he stayed right next to the door, waiting, watching.
"Ah. There you are. I was wondering if you had changed your mind."
Andreas stepped out of the darkness, grinning, a long metal whip in his hand.
"Never," John spat, reaching around to draw his gun. Before he could shoot, though, the whip was already cracking through the air, knocking the weapon out of his hand and sending it spinning across the floor. John turned, flinging himself out of the way as the whip flashed towards him, pulling his knife from its sheath, sending it flying in Andreas' direction. It hit the flesh of his wrist with a satisfying thump, and the Elder cursed as he dropped the whip, grabbed the handle, and pulled the blade out again in a spray of blood, looking up just in time for John to hit his jaw with a furious blow. Andreas staggered, then hissed, furious, moving faster than John had ever thought possible, driving the bloodied knife deep into John's side.
With a pained shout, he went down.
"John!" Growling, McKay changed, his face stretching as hair started to sprout all over his body and his features became those of a wolf, mouth filled with sharp fangs, his shirt suddenly tight over expanding muscle. Roaring in anger, the Lycan leaped away from the door and at Andreas, ripping his claws across the Vampire's belly and leaving deep gashes behind.
John pulled out the knife with another pained shout, let it drop from shaking fingers and looked around for his gun, finally spotting it a good twenty feet away. He struggled to his feet, stumbling over to the weapon, only to fall to his knees again when a hard kick from Andreas sent McKay flying through the air right above John's head. The Lycan crashed into a row of shelves with a yelp, not rising again as cans and tools came cluttering down on top of him.
"This has gone on long enough."
Andreas' face was a mask of anger as he turned to face John, who had staggered to his feet again, still too far away from his gun, blood still dripping from the slowly closing wound in his side.
John's hands felt terminally empty. He prepared for his death as the sharp, heavy point of the whip shot towards him, aimed straight at his heart.
It never reached him.
"McKay!" Ronon was suddenly there, shouting as the other Lycan slumped to the ground in front of John, the whip's spiky end embedded firmly in his chest. His furred body jerked helplessly, blood flowing faster as Andreas yanked at the weapon, getting it free not quite in time to fend off Ronon, who had leapt at the Vampire, changing in mid air. The mighty jaws snapped shut just inches from Andreas face as the Vampire stopped him with his bare hands, crying out as the Lycan's claws ripped into his side.
A furious push sent Ronon flying back against the far wall, however, and although the Lycan jumped back onto his feet immediately, Andreas was faster. He swung his whip, and it hissed through the air, the sharp spike unerringly finding its target.
Ronon gurgled as the metal sank deep into his throat, destroying bone and cartilage alike. Blood sprayed across the floor as Andreas pulled, ripping through at least one carotid artery as the spike tore free of the surrounding tissue. Ronon took a tumbling step forward, then a shudder ran through his massive frame, and he started to keel over. He was dead before he hit the ground. Andreas barked a short laugh, raised the red-dripping whip and turned towards his last opponent.
And John's UV rounds blew off half of his head.
Andreas' body hit the ground with a satisfyingly final thump. John stood, breathing heavily, still pointing his weapon just in case some unholy miracle happened and Andreas stood up again, but the Vampire lay still, slowly bleeding out, and John allowed himself to relax. The wound in his side had all but closed, only aching a little when he moved. He tucked his gun back where it belonged, and turned around to McKay.
The Lycan had changed back into his by now familiar human form, lying prone and unmoving on the cold floor, dark blood around him glistening in the lamplight. John briefly rested his fingers against McKay's neck, sighing as he felt the slow, fluttering pulse. In all honesty, he would have preferred if the guy had been dead - he hated owing people. But the fact remained that McKay had saved his life, so he reached down and picked the unconscious body up to carry him to the car.
With a little luck, he could repay the favour right away, and then they'd never have to cross paths again.
Teyla raised one elegant eyebrow as John walked through the door with a Lycan over his shoulder.
"See what you can do, would you?" He spotted a nice, large table and dumped his cargo right onto the smooth surface. Blood had oozed through McKay's shirt and into John's own, and his back and shoulder felt sticky. The Lycan's face looked pale and grey in the harsh light, the whole front of his torn shirt red with blood.
"I'll have to cut this away," Teyla commented, hesitantly fingering the hem of the shirt. John shrugged.
"It's ruined anyway."
Teyla nodded, pulled out one of her knives, and set to work as John stepped over to one of the large windows. The night seemed even darker than earlier that evening, thick clouds covering the moon. It should be raining, he thought, listening to the quiet sound of Teyla's knife slicing through fabric. Rain always seemed more fitting for nights of epic battle.
He closed his eyes, just for a second. Andreas was dead. After centuries of waiting, John had finally gotten his revenge. The satisfaction he'd expected wouldn't come, but it was only a matter of time. Maybe after the adrenaline had faded.
"I killed him for you," he whispered, imagining in the window's glass the picture of a blond boy with bright eyes and a crooked smile. "You can rest now."
And maybe he could, too.
"John. Please, take a look at this," Teyla called him, quietly, and he turned away from the window, crossing the room with a few quick steps. She had finished cutting McKay's shirt open, and had turned the Lycan's body so he was lying half on his side to strip it off.
"What?" John asked, but then he saw it, and his heart started to pound painfully in his chest. There, on the Lycan's shoulder, thin and faded almost into invisibility, was a scar: a crude J in a wobbly circle, inexpertly carved by a child's hands.
With a shaking hand, John reached out.
~~~
"Abomination," Andreas hissed.
The young men flinched apart, hurrying into a respectful bow.
"My lord." John hesitated, then he added defiantly, "We did nothing wrong."
He jumped up when his friend was dragged to his feet, fists clenching at his side, only respect for the Elders holding him back.
"No? Then what would you say this is?" Andreas ripped the Lycan's shirt, hauling him around to point an accusing finger at the pale scar. "An owner's mark? Or a lover's?"
He sneered, and John felt his heart jump with fear even as he tried to explain, "It's nothing! We're friends, there's nothing wrong with that!"
"There is no friendship between Vampires and Lycans!" Andreas hissed. "The mere thought is an abomination against nature!"
With a careless snap of his fingers, he turned to the guards, pointing at the Lycan.
"Kill him."
"No!"
John lunged forward, but two guards seized hold of his arms, yanking him back, away from his friend. Torches flickered in the dark as the Lycan boy was dragged away, kicking and screaming, trying to turn in his captors' cruel hold to look at John.
"John!"
A brutal slap across the face from Andreas silenced him as he was carried off into the darkness, away from John, who struggled cursing and yelling in the guards' grasp.
Moments later, a terrible scream echoed through the night, only to end with a whimpered gurgle. John pulled against the arms that held him, tears streaming over his face.
"No! Rodney! Rodney!"
~~~
"Rodney," he whispered as his fingers brushed over the mark, lightly, hesitant.
The smooth skin felt cool under his hand, damp with sweat, and Rodney didn't move at his touch.
"We have to help him," John said helplessly, finding little comfort in Teyla's assuring nod.
"Ronon will know what to do."
"Ronon's dead." She stopped what she was doing, her small hand resting on Rodney's blood streaked side. John regretted his short answer; he knew what it felt like to lose someone important. "I'm sorry."
"As am I." Teyla nodded, just once, her face betraying nothing as she resumed to cut the ruined shirt away from Rodney's arm. "Please hold him." Gently, she turned Rodney on his other side to repeat the process while John held his friend, finally pulling away the last shreds of fabric.
"There is a doctor, a Lycan. Maybe he will be of assistance."
"Where?"
He barely waited for her to finish explaining before he ran out of the house and to his car, speeding off into the night. The damn doctor lived almost on the other side of Toronto, and John paid no attention to either speed limits or red lights as he drove through the darkness.
Any policeman who would have dared to stop him right then wouldn't have survived.
The house he finally stopped at with screeching tires was small, unremarkable, a perfect place to hide. John left the car running, not bothering to knock as he tore through the front door and into the living room of a very startled man, who blinked up at him from where he was sitting on a ratty old sofa.
"Are you Beckett?"
"Yes?"
"Good. I need your help, grab your stuff."
He grabbed the lapels of the man's shirt and dragged him up, putting him on his feet in a none too gentle way.
"But I don't treat Vampires!" Beckett protested, words rolling with a thick Scottish accent.
"You'll have to treat yourself if you don't stop bitching and come with me, now!"
The doctor didn't need to be told again, hurriedly grabbing a large bag and wrenching it open.
"What kind of injury are we dealing with?"
"Chest wound."
Beckett nodded, stuffing a few more things into the already overflowing bag, and then it was off again into Toronto's thankfully sparse late night traffic.
Teyla had moved Rodney upstairs when they returned, carefully placing him on John's generous bed, a sheet spread over the lower part of his body to keep him warm.
"Oh, dear Lord," Beckett tut-tutted as he saw the wound, hurrying over to the bed and spreading medical paraphernalia from his bag around it within minutes. He cleaned, sterilised, and treated the gaping hole in Rodney's chest, but nothing he did seemed to help much.
"Shouldn't it be closing around now?" John asked, worried. He didn't know much about Lycan physiology, but he could sense that something was wrong. Beckett sighed.
"It's not that easy, son. He isn't a Vampire; you can't just drip blood on the wound and hope for the best."
During the whole treatment, Rodney's eyes hadn't so much as fluttered, his face slack and pale. John let out a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the fear he was feeling.
"There's got to be something you can do."
"He has lost a lot of blood," Beckett said gently, his voice full of sympathy. "He's still fighting, but his body is shutting down, little by little. Now, if we can keep him alive till full moon, the moonlight should do the trick, but until then, there's nothing much we can do."
"That's three nights from now," John protested.
"Aye. I never said it'd be easy, lad."
And it wasn't. John didn't dare go to sleep, not even when the afternoon sun made the edges of the heavy curtains in his bedroom glow. He didn't want to miss it if Rodney… during the day… well, he just wanted to be there. He couldn't believe that he hadn't recognised him, the familiar line of his mouth, those blue eyes he had known so well. Even if Rodney's face had lost the slenderness of his youth, it was still him, still Rodney, and John could have kicked himself.
If he'd just listened, if he'd just looked properly, they could have been together; instead, he was forced to watch his friend slip away a little further with each passing hour. The bitter outcome of John's foolishness. Beckett stayed with them the whole time, trying his best to keep Rodney alive. He kept transfusing blood, injecting drugs, reviving the Lycan when his heart stopped beating yet again. He didn't bandage the wound, though, explaining that closing it up would do more harm than good when the time came to uncover it again, so that the moonlight could work its magic and heal the torn flesh.
It was hard not to lose hope during those three days, and John, staring at Rodney's expressionless face, had to admit at least to himself that he didn't manage. But his friend kept clinging to life, if barely, proving that despite all changes that might have occurred over the last centuries, he hadn't lost any of his stubbornness.
Then the full moon rose, and Teyla pulled the curtains aside, inviting its light into the room. The pale rays reached through the darkness, caressing the still figure on the wide bed, letting the open wound on his chest appear a stark black against the whiteness of the surrounding skin. John held his breath, waiting for the wonder to happen.
It didn't come.
He looked at Beckett, helpless, and the doctor shook his head.
"Och, Rodney, what are you doing now?"
"What? Why isn't he-"
A sharp gasp from the bed interrupted him, and John turned his head just in time to see Rodney's body arch up from the mattress hard enough that it looked like his spine might break under the strain.
"Rodney!"
He started towards the bed, but Beckett held him back with surprising strength.
"Don't."
"But-"
Rodney let out a long, hoarse moan, fists clenching and opening, fingernails growing into claws and back. His skin turned dark, fur starting to grow, only to disappear again. Another moan, then Rodney collapsed like someone had cut the invisible strings that had kept him suspended over the mattress, his body lying still and pale once again.
The wound in his chest was gone.
"Rodney." This time, Beckett let him stumble over to the bed, all grace gone, smothered by dread and hope as John dropped to his knees beside the Lycan, picking up a warm, broad hand and telling himself not to feel for a pulse.
Everything would be all right. There was no need to be nervous.
Rodney stirred, ever so slightly, letting out his breath in a small sigh. He frowned lightly, then his eyes opened, slowly, taking in the unfamiliar room with a confused gaze, finally focussing on John.
The Vampire blinked back the burn in his own eyes, smiling at his friend for the first time in centuries.
"John," the Lycan whispered, clasping his hand with surprising strength.
"Hey, Rodney," he whispered back with forced casualness, and there was the crooked smile he remembered so clearly, surprised and happy, turning the room brighter than the moonlight ever could.
"Yours," Rodney breathed, his grip tightening, and John pressed a quick kiss to the hand he was still holding, apology, promise, connection, sighing as Rodney's smile grew even brighter.
"Yes. You're mine."
~~~
"Lie still."
The gruff words did little to soothe Rodney's agitation, but each movement jarred where Lord Andreas had driven the sword deep into his guts, and so he let himself sink back into his nest of blankets spread across the cold floor.
Some lord. Not even checking if Rodney's wounds were truly fatal, instead dumping him with the trash to die. But the Lycans were rebelling, leaving their former masters, and one of them had picked Rodney up on his way out of the small town, and now he was recovering, ever so slowly, thinking of John.
He just hoped nothing had happened to him, but his friend had always treated the Lycans well, and Rodney simply had to believe that they had repaid that kindness with mercy. By now, Vampires and Lycans alike would have left the town, anyway, scattered into the four winds. It would be impossible to find a single, unimportant Vampire in this chaos, but if Rodney could somehow stick close to one of the older ones, sooner or later his friend might turn up.
Knowing John, his best bet would be Andreas.
"I can hear you think from all across the room," his saviour commented from his place by the fire, clearly amused.
"Yes, it's a habit," Rodney snapped back, but without real venom. A plan was beginning to take form in his head, and making at least a few allies seemed to be a vital part of it. "Say, what's your opinion on, uh, 'payin' back them bastards' by concentrating on a single, powerful adversary?"
"Is this about your friend?" the large man asked back, and, in the spirit of making allies, Rodney decided to be honest. He nodded.
"Don't worry. You'll find him." Which wasn't an answer to his question, but the man was still grinning, so Rodney counted it as a first step in the right direction. "May take a while, though," the man added.
Yes, obviously, but that was nothing unexpected. Rodney would just have to lay low, take his time, and wait. Sooner or later, if he was careful and John didn't do anything stupid, one of them was bound to find the other.
One day, they'd meet again. He had to believe that.
~~~
End. And I'd like to imagine that this (manip by mystisblom and one of the inspirations for this story) is the very near future.