Did someone order some Post-Doppelganger angst with a healthy dose of "Can't tell dream from reality?"
(TW for a panic attack that's not really acknowledged as such, but is certainly written to be one)
John jerks awake with a gasp.
He sits up in bed and hunches over his knees, head in his hands as he tries to get his breathing under control. He can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, can almost hear the way it's pounding in his ears, but it doesn't do anything to drown out the shrill noise of the flatline.
He shudders and tries to shake off the nightmare.
"He's fine, you're fine, it was just a dream," he whispers to himself, but he can't quite make himself believe it.
Because...it had felt real, before. He'd heard the flatline, and he'd stumbled out of the infirmary, and nothing had seemed off or out of place even as he was numb with denial. And what if...no. No, John's not going to go there.
The flatline was the nightmare; he fought himself and lost, Rodney fought him and won, Rodney threw the thing with his face through the gate - that was all real. He woke up, and Rodney was fine, and the creature was gone. That was real.
He starts to breathe harder again, can feel himself panicking the way he never does in a firefight, and he fights to calm down but nothing works.
Because what if the flatline was real, and everything after was the dream?
He's jumping to his feet almost before he knows what he's doing. He doesn't bother with socks, just shoves his feet in his boots and staggers out the door and down the hall.
His panting sounds disproportionately loud in the quiet hallway, and his steps echo in the emptiness. He moves faster, just barely restraining himself from flat-out sprinting, until he comes to a halt outside the door.
He stands there for a few minutes, fists clenched and breathing hard, but he can't make himself knock and he can't make himself leave. If he knocks and no one answers...
He pounds on the door, harder than necessary really, but he can't help it, and every second the door doesn't open he can feel himself falling apart, and then suddenly he's falling forward into a warm solid mass that catches him with a pained grunt.
"What the hell is going on, it is 3am, what do you possibly - Sheppard?" Rodney asks, as he processes who's hanging onto him for dear life.
John grips him tighter for a moment, trying to ground himself in the physical proof in front of him.
"Rodney," he gasps, and suddenly the hold on him changes, gets more supportive, as Rodney lifts him better and helps him stand properly as he pulls him into the room.
Rodney lets go for a moment and John does his best to stifle his protest but something must come out because Rodney whirls back around and takes him in: flushed and panting and wild-eyed, just on the edge of hyperventilating.
"Jesus, Sheppard, are you - no of course you're not alright, but what's wrong?" he demands, grasping John's shoulders in his hands.
John shakes his head, tries to answer and fails to force any words out. His breath is still uneven and his heart is still pounding, but with Rodney in front of him he can almost forget what the flatline sounded like.
"Okay, okay," Rodney says, still looking freaked out. John can't blame him.
"Look at me - just breathe, okay? Just breathe," Rodney tells him. John tries, choking a little on the exhale, and Rodney moves one of his hands down to rest on John's chest.
"That's it, just focus on me, focus on my hand, listen to my voice," he says, and John does his best to listen.
They stand there for what feels like hours as John slowly manages to get himself back under control. He tips forward at some point and rests his forehead on Rodney's shoulder, trapping the hand still on his chest between them. Rodney hasn't stopped talking the entire time, although John couldn't recall anything he'd actually said; the sound of his voice had been enough to finally drown out the shrill whine haunting him.
When he feels like he's in control again John rolls his shoulders and steps back. He scratches awkwardly at his neck and refuses to meet Rodney's eyes.
"Nightmares, huh?" Rodney says after a minute with a sardonic undertone.
"Yeah, nightmares," John agrees quietly. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment.
Then he looks up, and opens his eyes.
