SGA Fic: Dreams of the Quietly Insane

[explodedpen]

Title: Dreams of the Quietly Insane
Rating: PG :)
Characters: Team Sheppard, in their dreams: Chuck the Gate Tech, Wraith, Little Girl, a group of clowns, and a whale.
Warnings/Spoilers: None that I can think of.
Word Count: 1859
Author's Note: I'm warped, this is warped, a smidge of angst wrapped in a barrel load of crazy.
Summary:  ‘Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives.’  William Dement, In Newsweek, 1959.

“Dr McKay! Dr McKay!”

Rodney turned as his name was frantically called and saw the Canadian gate technician waving his arms in sheer panic. Rodney frowned at his surroundings, certain he had only been in his room seconds before, and glanced horror-stricken as the gate began to glow purple, the wormhole within distending and twisting like boiling soup.

“I can’t stop it!” The technician cried.

“Shut it down!” Rodney yelled back, frozen to the spot. “Cut the power!” Mouth hanging open in shock he watched as something forced its way slowly through the malfunctioning stargate, inexplicably sloshing water across the floor.

The room fell silent as the thing came to a stop, wedged in the stargate.

The thing gave a polite cough. “Hello, I’m –”

“You’re a whale!” Rodney blurted out in panic, trying to force his frozen feet to move. “How can you? How did you? What the hell?”

The whale surveyed him with what appeared to be barely concealed irritation. “As I was saying, I am a representative from the League for the Protection and Fair Representation of Whales in the Universe – I’m sure you’ve heard of us, we’re a well known group.”

Rodney open and shut his mouth several times but no sound came out, his gaze locked on the monstrosity currently giving the gate room an intrigued look.

The whale wiggled a bit and sighed. “You could’ve made your door a little bigger.” It licked round its mouth once. “Anyway, I’m looking for Douglas Adams. We’ve set up a meeting, he should be expecting me.”

Rodney blinked. “He’s not here,” he mumbled faintly. “This is Atlantis.”

“Oh bugger!” The whale cursed let its face rest on the gate room floor. “Atlantis? Really? Not Earth then?”

“No, uh,” Rodney gestured to the left. “Next galaxy over.” He paused, his hands twitching anxiously. “You’re not going to eat me are you?”

There was a long silence.

“Uh, do you want me to eat you?” The whale asked.

“No!”

“Well then,” the whale sniffed – impressive for something with no nostrils Rodney could currently see at this point in time. “So Earth is the next galaxy over?”

Rodney nodded and gestured to his left again. He frowned as he felt a soft weight in his hand; he momentarily looked away from the whale to see a piece of toast resting on his palm.

The whale’s head bobbed up and down in a weird nod, drawing Rodney’s attention again. “This is Atlantis... Atlantis...why does that ring a bell?” It suddenly brightened. “Oh yes! I’ve a got a meeting here next Thursday! Excellent, I’ll see you again then.” It started to wiggle backwards. “Oh, do me a favour? Make the door bigger, it’s awfully degrading to be stuck like this – doesn’t really lend itself to the right image, you know?” It paused once more. “Don’t forget Thursday.”

Rodney woke up screaming, his feet twisted in his sheets rendering escape impossible. Heart pounding he struggled violently against his cotton restraints only to fall off the bed with a painful thud.

He groaned. He was in his room; his nice safe room with no whales whatsoever.

0 0 0 0

Ronon moved across the darkened room to where the Ancient toaster sat with a bag of bread and a pot of butter beside it. Grinning Ronon powered up the toaster and opened up the bread bag. Screams and shouts filled the air causing Ronon to twist round, as if expecting to see a whole village of people had inexplicably managed to sneak up on him.

A single slice of bread fired itself out the bag, the screams melded into one long cry of “NO!”

“Take me, leave the others,” said the slice of bread, somehow standing up on its bottom crust.

A small part of Ronon’s brain – the part that was wondering whether or not to shoot it till everything started behaving normally – commented that the slice of bread sounded strangely, impossibly...like Sheppard.

“Oh you freakin’ hero,” another voice snorted. “At least you aren’t forced to get all hot and bothered and used as a weapon of mass murder. You try having something forcibly stuck in one of your orifices, you know I could be wheat-intolerant, but do they care? No! So quit your stupid whining and think about someone else for a change, like the poor thing who has to kill you.”

Ronon stared in disbelief at the toaster as it vibrated indignantly. “McKay?”

“If I were not so weak I would aid you in your fight,” the butter pot sighed softly. Ronon could see it was half empty, parts already worn away. “I fear the situation has gone beyond diplomatic resolution.”

Teyla, Ronon realised with a jolt. “I won’t hurt you,” he said stepping back and holding up his hands.

“We’re not talking about you,” said McKay, still vibrating, only now with fear.

A stunner bolt came out of the darkness, slamming into his chest, Ronon collapsed to the ground, his eyes widening as he saw the wraith step into the soft light. Unable to move he was forced to watch as the wraith toasted Sheppard and took another chunk of Teyla’s life away, with McKay screaming insults and babbling with fear the whole time. Ronon watched as the wraith finished its meal and then calmly destroyed the toaster, beating it till the voice faded away and the light finally faded.

The wraith bared its teeth and snatched up the bread bag. It stepped back into the darkness leaving Ronon alone in the light surrounded by breadcrumbs, an almost empty pot of butter and a broken toaster.

Ronon snapped awake, leaping from his bed and glancing wildly around the room. He shook his head to clear it of the odd dream, then dressed and ran from the room.

0 0 0 0

Teyla moved slowly through the wood, her face upturned to the bright, sunny sky, smiling as she passed beneath the trees with their yellowing leaves. The path presently diverged and she paused contemplating her next course of action.

A baby’s cry echoed through the wood. Teyla looked round in confusion and thought only for a moment before plunging through the wood between the two paths. She dodged the through the trees, her eyes rapidly adjusting to the shaded dark.

She kept running, the baby’s cry getting louder and louder, till finally she broke through into a clearing and found herself thrown back by some barrier.

Slowly she rose to her feet and reached out, resting her hands against the invisible barrier. The baby’s cry cut off abruptly and Teyla blinked in confusion as her eyes rested on a young girl, weeping over three carved dolls held gently in her hands.

The girl held out the dolls to her. “They’re broken,” she whispered. She rose to her feet and crossed over to the barrier.  Closing her eyes she tightened her grip on the dolls and Teyla watched in shock as the dolls crumbled to ash beneath the girl’s fingers.

In the distance a baby began to cry.

The girl solemnly handed over a piece of toast.

Teyla sat up, inhaling and exhaling slowly as she attempted to overcome a deep sense of unease, her hands clutching hold of her covers.

0 0 0 0

The three people converged on him. One wearing a curly red wig, his face painted white with a big red downturned mouth, nervous hands played with modelling balloons, clever fingers rapidly creating balloon molecules. Another, a woman, her clothing striped black, her face painted a faint light blue with black tear tracks delicately traced down one cheek, a beret perched on her head and a single piece of toast clutched in one hand.

The final one loomed over him, his blue dreadlocks stuck out with wire, making him a male Medusa with a big red nose in the centre of his face. A gun was held loosely in one hand and John took an involuntary step back.

“Now this,” the clown in the red wig commented, “is what going mad feels like.”

McKay.

“Sit,” The one with blue dreadlocks pushed him down into an armchair, and pointed the gun at John’s face. He fired, red water shooting out from the barrel.

Ronon.

John wiped the coloured water from his eyes and swallowed. The smallest one, the sad female clown pressed her forehead to his and gently put the slice of toast down on his upturned palm.

Teyla.

“Enjoy the show,” she whispered drawing away from him.

The three moved centre stage. A puddlejumper suddenly landed beside them, the back hatch opened and a million clowns poured out, filling every available space.

The complete balloon model of a molecule was tossed into the air. The three clowns held eye contact with him till finally John couldn’t see them anymore past the millions of other clowns vying for his attentions.

John shuddered and awoke. He squinted at his bedside clock, waiting impatiently till the red blobs formed actual numbers. He sighed and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling debating whether or not to attempt sleep again.

0 0 0 0

John stepped into the mess hall and frowned as he saw the rest of his team silently gathered round their usual table. Shaking his head he made himself a cup of coffee and moved to join them.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Rodney asked as John sat down.

“No,” said John shortly.

Silence fell once more between them. Several peaceful minutes passed before Rodney sighed and straightened his spine.

“I dreamt a whale was asking for Douglas Adams,” he said suddenly, his chin tilted defiantly as if daring them to laugh.

“A baby kept crying and dolls fell to ashes,” Teyla whispered staring into her mug.

“A wraith made toast.” Ronon folded his arms as everyone turned questioning glances on him. “McKay was the toaster, Sheppard was the bread and Teyla was the butter.” He gestured to John and Teyla. “Eaten.” He jerked his head at Rodney. “Beaten.”

Following a slight pause to assimilate this all eyes swivelled round to rest on John.

He shrugged. “A lot of clowns... and a slice of toast.”

Rodney’s eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t some weird freakish clown orgy was it?” He took a thoughtful sip of his coffee missing the blank look of horror on John’s face.

“There is just not enough bleach in the world to erase that mental image,” said John shuddering.

“I too dreamt I was given a piece of toast,” said Teyla, gently steering the conversation from clown orgies.

“Me too actually,” Rodney drained the last of his coffee. “It just appeared in my hand.” He set his mug down and looked at each of them in turn. “So despite the many horrors this galaxy throws at us on a daily basis, the common element of all our dreams is in fact toast.” He leant back in his chair. “Now this,” he commented, “is what feeling mad is like.”

John choked on his coffee.

 
A/N The second:  Look what krysalysmade!! Check it out - isn't it awesome?!