Disclaimer: I own nothing except for my OCs.

A.N: Story takes place several years beyond season 5.

A.N#2: Written to The Last of the Mohicans soundtrack by Trevor Jones and Randy Edelman and Ramin Djawadi's Game of Thrones Season Seven OST.

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"There must be some kind of way outta here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief."
—Bob Dylan, All Along the Watchtower

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Upside Down

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Lt. Colonel John Sheppard squinted up at PR9-939's sun and wondered if it was too late in the afternoon for coffee.

For the third time in as many minutes he glanced at where Rodney McKay crouched by a sandblasted pillar. As far as Ancient archaeological surveys went, John stuck it between Really Boring and Anything But This. It seemed nothing but a stone graveyard, but Rodney and the other scientists combed over the bleached skeleton of the city as if it were something precious, each lugging an arsenal of tablets and sampling equipment.

Sweat rolled down John's neck as he continued to patrol, hands easy but ready on his P90. Of all the days to pick the short straw and get stuck on scientist-babysitting duty. As John walked he half-hoped to see a Wraith raiding party, if only to alleviate the boredom. He knew he was hoping for too much: ever since the war with the Wraith ended four years ago, the closest form of action he saw were border disputes. And if anything Guide said was true, even that was nearing its end.

Guide. Or Todd, before relations stabilized into the alliance it was today. The I'll-kill-you-but-not-really was almost an hello between them at this point. John pushed aside the memory of the Wraith feeding on him, rubbing his chest before he caught himself. How many years had it been? Five? Six? Time flies when you're having fun, he thought, the expression on his face more teeth than smile. Sometimes he wondered if he would've preferred having a physical scar from the encounter rather than just a memory. At least then the wound would've been easy to quantify.

John was still thinking about the Wraith when he looked up the exact moment the sun winked, everything a miniscule brighter. The man shook his head, wondering if his boredom was taking its toll. None of the scientists paused their research.

"Rodney," John said.

No answer.

"Rodney!"

"What!"

John gestured upward. "Did you see that?"

Rodney straightened with a visible sigh, lowering his tablet. "See what."

Even as the words left of his mouth John felt foolish. "It got bright for a second. Didn't you notice?"

Rodney was already huffing. "No, I didn't notice. Can't you go bother someone else? Just, just go over there."

"The sun. I think I saw it flare."

"Oh, no, no. A person couldn't see that with the naked eye. And besides, that shouldn't happen for another—" The man reopened his tablet and glanced at it. His brow furrowed. "Huh."

"'Huh'?" John stepped closer. "What do you mean, 'huh'?"

"I'm reading a massive CME from the sun three hours ahead of schedule." Rodney lifted his head. "Zelenka!"

The small man appeared as if summoned, floppy hat drooping about his ears, shirt dark with sweat patches. McKay showed the tablet to him. John watched the two men huddle together for a moment before they looked at each other.

"Colonel, we should go," Zelenka said. "A coronal mass ejection of that size is bound to create a geomagnetic storm, and soon."

"It's so ahead of schedule," Rodney said, voice rising. He took the tablet out of Zelenka's hands and scowled at it. "It makes no sense. My calculations were perfect."

"How long would it last?" John asked, ignoring the urge to quip something witty.

"Hours," Rodney said, just as Zelenka shrugged, "Days?"

The two scientists eyed each other.

The prospect of being stranded on the hot, desolate plain made the decision easy. John tried not to let his smile show when he said, "Alright, recall the team. We're leaving and we're leaving now."

"But—"

"Now, Rodney," John said. "I'm sure the ruins will still be here when we get back."

"But the equipment?" Rodney asked, glancing at several large metal containers.

"Grab what you can carry. I'd rather not mess with flares."

"Ahum, technically CMEs aren't flares," Zelenka said, "but massive bubbles of magnetized gas that accompany—"

"Less explaining, more moving," John said.

Within ten minutes everyone was walking to the Stargate, dust kicking around their legs. John found himself humming as he imagined the romantic supper he would soon have with Teyla. Maybe he would cook her a homemade pizza. Her boy Torren loved the stuff. John expected nothing less: pizza was amazing no matter the galaxy. He glanced up, squinting against the haze. A corona of orange had collected around the sun and he urged the team to pick up the pace, he himself jogging the half mile to reach the Stargate first.

By the time John reached the portal he was sporting a good sweat and feeling his right knee, but it was a clean feeling. Could use more of it, if he was being honest with himself. The occasional spar with Teyla and Ronon kept him on his toes, but John knew the years of peace were slowly taking a toll. The Wraith stayed on their half of the Pegasus, Atlantis safeguarded the other half. Simple. And now with the retrovirus allowing humans to survive the Wraith feeding process, Teyla reported human populations already growing. The wounds were healing.

He was finishing dialing when Rodney pulled up besides him, clutching his knees and panting.

"Thanks for the double time, Sheppard," Rodney said. The look he gave John could've curled wallpaper off a wall.

"Anytime," John replied, smiling.

Rodney was still muttering under his breath when he slipped through the activated Stargate. Dr. Zelenka and the others soon followed, each wiping dust from their eyes. John waited until the last scientist passed through the event horizon before slipping into the gleaming blue. A slurrp-stomach-drop later he reached the other side.

John was still wondering if Teyla was in the mood for wine or beer when he realized something wasn't right. At all. Because instead of standing in the Gate room of Atlantis he was still on PR9-939. He whirled around. The desolate wasteland was gone, a gleaming, wholesome city towering where ruins stood moments before. Puddle Jumpers glided lazily about the spires.

John's mouth went slack.

"Oh, goddammit it."

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.s.

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John groaned aloud. Time travel? Hadn't he suffered enough of the damn thing? The memory of when he'd gone almost fifty thousand years into the future flashed in his mind before he forced the panic back. Or when he, Ronon, Teyla, and Rodney had been stuck on that reality-jumping Daedalus. C'mon, John. Think. This isn't your first rodeo. At least he knew to blame that CME, or solar burp, or whatever the hell wrong with the sun. He was damn sure of it. Had Rodney and the others been flung backwards or forwards in time too? John turned in place but found no one with him. His throat tightened a little. He hoped wherever they were they were okay and safe. He squinted upwards. The same orange corona surrounded the sun.

He clicked his radio. "This is Sheppard, anyone read? I repeat, this is Sheppard. Anyone on this channel?" John listened for half a second to dead air before abandoning his comm. Unless there was another holographic Rodney McKay here to greet him, he knew he was on his own.

First things first. He needed to get to an astrological station to tell when he was and how he could get back to his proper time. Maybe he would have to be frozen for another seven hundred years. Or maybe the Ancients could zip him back, no sweat. John perked up. There's always a solution to every problem, he thought as he began to trek towards the city. Despite his predicament he began to smile, already imagining Rodney's jealousy when he returned to Atlantis. Maybe this was a good thing, the shakeup he'd been waiting for. Adventure. Danger. There was only so much peace a soldier without a war could handle.

He walked the stone-cut road without hurry, thinking his options. He left his weapons stashed under a small formation of rocks off the path, carefully covering them up. It hurt his heart a little to leave his Colt behind. I'll come back for you, I promise. He kept his knife holstered to his ankle. The less aggressive he seemed the better, but that didn't mean he had to be defenseless.

The tall grass bent in the cool breeze, swaying like women at a dance. Trees cast welcome shade as John neared the city's outer limits, sunshine dappling the road. The massive structure resembled Atlantis enough to make his heart twinge. If he squinted, he could pretend he was walking home. To Teyla. To Rodney and Ronon and Jennifer, to all the others.

John rounded a bend in the road and saw people through a gap between the trees. They were in a nearby field, dressed in drab uniforms and moving in rows, like farmers. John slowed. Ancients? Humans? He thought it strange all of them had white hair, until he realized they were Wraith.

John abandoned the open road to duck behind some bushes, heart quickening in a way it hadn't for nearly five years. Wraith? Here, so close to an Ancient city? He watched from where he hid, suddenly regretting leaving his P90 behind. Should he warn someone? The ten Wraith didn't seem to care they were visible, remaining in the open despite ample opportunity to hide. Were they searching for something? John was going to move away when he noticed one Wraith in particular. He'd recognize the unkempt hair and starburst tattoo anywhere.

John must've made a noise because the Wraith closest to his location stopped what he was doing and straightened, staring where the man hid with unerring precision. The others stopped too until they were all staring at him, Guide included. Well, no use delaying the party. John stood up and moved away from the bushes, giving his best disarming smile. It was odd seeing Guide dressed so similarly to the army fatigues he was subjected to when he was a prisoner of Atlantis. John found himself grinning. Despite traveling back in time it looked like Guide hadn't de-aged a day. Had the Wraith always been old?

John tried to ignore the tension in the air and raised a hand. "How's everyone doing?"

None of the Wraith moved.

"Tough crowd." This was fast becoming the surrealist day of John's life. The Wraith of the future would've tried flanking him by now. He turned his attention to the familiar face. "So, Guide? What's with the getup?"

The Wraith startled as if he'd stepped on a live wire, expression contorting from shock to fury before hardening into something in between.

"How did you come by that name?" Guide hissed.

John hadn't heard that tone since they were both Kolya's prisoners. He resisted the urge to face palm. Good one, John. "I'm an amazing guesser."

The group of Wraith moved closer, noticeable hunger in the way they sized him boots to head. John tensed, fingers twitching for the P90 that wasn't there. Even though the retrovirus would save him from dying, being fed on hurt like a bitch. His gaze dipped. Guide wore a black fingerless glove on his feeding hand. It was clenched in a tight fist.

"Hey!" a voice said. "Get back to work, all of you."

John turned. Two Ancients were walking towards them, grasses parting around their thighs. They were dressed in crème uniforms, both toting weapons on their hips. John couldn't believe how the Wraith obeyed, leaving him alone to return to their task. Even Guide turned away, leaving John shocked. The Guide he knew killed the Primary to gain control of the alliance, which, as Teyla informed him, was the most perverse and steel-balled thing a male Wraith could accomplish. How could these Ancients control him, of all people?

"And you," the Ancient said to John with a frown. His face was pockmarked and hair shorn gray. His voice was the sound of gravel. "Civilians aren't allowed in this zone."

"I'm figuring that," John said. He was bursting with questions. All he could manage was a disarming smile.

The other Ancient was now thumbing his weapon with a narrowed expression. He was younger than John and vaguely handsome. "Let's see your identification."

"Okay, okay, you got me," John said, raising his hands. No point in lying. "This is going to sound weird, but . . . I'm from the future."

"The future?" the first Ancient said.

"Yeah, y'know, forward in time?"

The two Ancients exchanged a look.

"Did you come through the Stargate?" the Ancient asked again.

"Yeah. Now I'm hoping to get back to my own time. So, if you wouldn't mind pointing me in the right direction, I'd greatly appreciate that."

"Of course," the second Ancient said, but not before exchanging a look with his counterpart John couldn't interpret. He took his hand away from his weapon. "We'll bring you to Oros, the High Councilor of Timaeus. He might be of assistance."

Timaeus? John perked. Timaeus was one of the sister cities of Atlantis, before the War. So that's why Rodney was so excited about the find. I should've paid more attention to the mission report, he thought. At the corner of his eye John saw the Wraith were ignoring the exchange, appearing to pick rocks among the grasses and putting them in strange cylindrical containers. Only Guide kept glancing towards him with an unreadable, catlike gaze.

"Thanks," John said, still wondering why neither Ancients were worried they were standing by nearly a dozen Wraith. And why the Wraith were letting them.

"You go. I'll call for a replacement," the younger Ancient said to his companion.

"Follow me," the first Ancient said to John. "It isn't too far of a walk."

John followed after him, returning to the road. John couldn't help but take one last look at the bizarre scene of Ancients patrolling Wraith. This past was different from what Teyla remembered from her Wraithkin memories. Very different.

"I'm Lorric, Fourth Overseer. My partner was Calmin, Sixth Overseer."

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard. Nice to meet you," John said.

Lorric didn't respond beyond a nod, which suited John fine. He used the silence to mull over his situation and the strangeness of it all. The fields of grass and trees gave way to more industrialization as they reached the city limits. They passed several more working Wraith as they did, each dressed in the same gray uniform and wore the black glove over their feeding hands. The road widened. It was becoming a smooth metal walkway when John saw a large translucent cage off to the side. Nobody could walk by without seeing it.

A Wraith huddled inside, unmoving.

John slowed. What's with this place? he thought.

"What'd he do?" he asked, nudging his chin towards the cage's direction.

"Killed an Overseer and tried to escape." Lorric kept his eyes forward. His voice was bland, like a mask painted white. "They caught it. Now they've left it in a constant state of starvation as a warning to the others. Which," he added in a low voice, "if I believe what I'm told, resembles being burned alive."

John shifted in place, unable to help but remember Steve, the Wraith they had starved to gain information in the early days of their Atlantis occupation. He cased another surreptitious glance at the cage. He was now close enough to see the Wraith held himself in a ball, arms hugged tight around his middle, knees pulled up to hide his face.

"A good punishment for them, eh?" a new voice said.

Both John and Lorric turned. Lorric's partner jogged up to them with an upraised hand.

"Calmin," Lorric said. His expression didn't change. John tried to smile but found it was hard to take his eyes off the Wraith. The creature appeared worse than Guide had in Kolya's prison.

"Starvation is one of the few things that keep them in line," Calmin said. He walked abreast with them, blinking in the sun. "But I heard the top might kill it soon. It's not much of a show anymore."

"A bit cruel, don't you think?" John said.

Calmin looked at him. "Tell that to the Overseer the thing killed."

John didn't reply, and neither Ancient said anything else. For an Ancient city, there were far more Wraith around than John would've imagined. How much could he care? This was the past. What did his actions matter? John shook his head to dislodge the thoughts. Keep a low profile, John. You're here to get out. Don't get involved.

The sun's heat cooled as they entered the shadow of a large grated wall. It reminded John of the forcefield of Atlantis' cells, and if he leaned in, he could hear the low hum of power. The guard at the entrance nodded at both Overseers and gave John a professional glance-over, but didn't stop them as they trudge through.

Their boots tramped on the smooth, polished floor as they climbed into the acropolis. Ancients passed by them without notice, each busy with a tablet or other business. Low conversation hugged the walls as several sat in the shaded areas similar to Atlantis' mess hall. John tried not to appear like a scout as he followed Lorric and Calmin along the corridors, cataloging the differences and similarities as casually as he could. Timaeus could've passed as Atlantis . . . almost. John would've missed it had he'd not lived in Atlantis as long as he did. There was a hush in the air, a stillness hard to pin down. It quieted conversations and dimmed the lights in the hallway. It smelled different too, as if there were more electricity in the air, or ozone. As if entering the belly of a great machine, a small voice said. His homesickness disappeared like smoke from an extinguished candle.

This place wasn't Atlantis.

John understood that fully when they left the meandering hallways to enter a bright, well-lit room. In the centre stood an Ancient. He held himself tall, the lines of him crisp and clean. He smiled when he saw John and strode forward.

"You must be our visitor from far away lands," the Ancient said. "I am Oros, High Councilor of Timaeus."

"Lt. Colonel John Sheppard."

"A pleasure." Oros smiled again. His gaze flicked at the others. "Overseers. Do you mind waiting outside? My guest and I will be fine."

"Yes, High Councilor," Calmin said. They both bowed and left.

When the door hissed closed Oros clapped his hands. "So! It seems you're a bit of a bind, Colonel Sheppard. Please, have a seat and tell me the events that led up to this unfortunate accident. The more details, the better."

John's legs thanked him when he finally sat down, his knee especially. He resisted the urge to rub it. He told the Ancient the highlights, glossing over the more personal details to deliver a dry, almost textbook op report. When he finished the High Councilor leaned his hip against his desk, rubbing a forefinger over his lips.

"The sun had an orange halo around it, you say?" the High Councilor asked.

"Yeah, that's right."

"Quite a curious tale you've woven for me, Colonel Sheppard." The Ancient snapped his fingers and stood. "Ah, but first where are my manners? Care for any food? Drink?"

"Uh, water, please."

The Ancient walked over to the cabinet by the rear wall. "Calmin told me you seemed curious about the Wraith here. Do you have them in your future?" Oros asked, back turned. There was the gurgle of liquid being poured.

John shifted in his seat. "You could say that."

Oros hummed. "It's a difficult problem, but we do our best to control them."

"Aren't you afraid they're going to rise up? Go to war, or something?"

"War?" The Ancient turned to study him, frowning. "They already tried," he said. "They lost."

John blinked. Something in his gut quelled. It was one thing to be in his own timeline, but a completely different one? I'm in a goddamn alternate reality, he thought. Rodney's voice floated in his ear: Traveling from one reality from another takes massive amounts of energy. ZPM level energy.

"I've surprised you."

John shook his head, jolted out of his thoughts. "What? Oh, uh, my face always looks surprised. Of course they lost the War."

Oros handed John a glass of water. After an initial hesitation, the man took it. The moment his fingers touched the cool glass surface it lit up like a beacon, the water inside turning white.

The Ancient smiled at John again, slow and long and indulgent. His teeth were very white. "Forgive me, but I am quite curious myself. Despite your human nature, it seems you naturally express our genetic ability to control our technology."

"Seems so," John said evenly.

Oros laughed. It was a delighted sound. John found it incongruous with the Wraith dying in the cage outside the city.

"Apologies, Colonel. I couldn't believe the scan results when I saw them. I simply had to discover if they were true."

John squinted at him. "You knew I wasn't from the future all along, didn't you." He didn't drink the water.

Oros leaned his hip again on the desk. "No, Colonel, we knew you weren't from our future. I will admit, it's been quite an age since we've traveled to your reality, but never has the inverse happened. You're something of a curio."

The hairs on John's neck rose. He put the water down and stood up. "Look, Councilor, all I want is to get back to my time."

"And you will . . . after you help us answer a few of our questions," the High Councilor said, his smiling fading into something else.

"Like what kind of questions?"

"Like these." Oros pressed a button on his desk. A glowing blue screen appeared above the desk, the interface filled with chemistry formulas. "You were scanned the moment you entered the city. We picked up a subcutaneous transmitter, but that isn't the reason we're interested. It's this." He pointed to a particular cluster of lines.

"What am I looking at?" John asked, but knew even before the Ancient responded.

"An unfamiliar Wraith enzyme in your blood."

The retrovirus.

"What does it matter?" John said, crossing his arms.

"It matters," the High Councilor said, "because it means the situation in your reality may have more potential than we originally thought."

What?

"The question of why a human carries our genetic marker is another question, but that can be a conversation for a later time. Now, Colonel Sheppard, if you'd be so kind, please follow my Overseers for additional testing."

The door hissed opened. Lorric and Calmin walked in, along with three other creme-uniformed Overseers. Each carried a weapon. A woman Ancient in a white uniform followed them. She held a tablet in her hand. The look she gave him reminded John of the time he saw Rodney encounter a particularly fascinating astrophysical equation.

"You know what? I think I'll pass," John said.

The woman exchanged looks with Lorric. "It would be very helpful to us if you cooperate," she said. Her hair was the colour of fire. "Normally we wouldn't ask, but our scans indicated a modified enzyme we've never encountered before. It would greatly aid our research."

"I'd still have to say no."

"Please," the woman said. All five guards began to crowd John. "We insist."

John smiled. There was nothing friendly about the expression. "Oh, well, if you insist." His fingers twitched for the knife still holstered to his leg.

"I wouldn't think about it," the High Councilor said behind him. "Our scans picked that up too. Overseers, please relieve him of his weapon."

It set his teeth on edge but John accepted it, knowing he'd have a later chance to escape. A rough shove had him following the woman, the rest flanking him.

"You do this to all your guests?" he asked, glaring around him. Calmin didn't respond as if suddenly deaf. John thought he saw a flash of apology from Lorric, but it was too fast to be sure. Nothing more was said the long journey to what John assumed to be the medical wing of the city. He'd been to the med bay in Atlantis more times than he cared to admit, but this way was different than what he remembered. Glowing white lights along the walls gave the room a bright, sterilized feel. John balked. Several Wraith occupied the beds, each strapped down with black bands. They ignored the Ancients moving about them, no-looks on their faces as they stared into space. Various tubes ran from their arms, chests, and necks. John shivered. Would he become like them?

"Right here is fine," the woman said when they reached an unoccupied bed, nodding to the guards. Lorric and Calmin stayed close while the other three stepped back.

"I don't need to strip, do I?" John asked, if only to see her squirm.

"That won't be necessary," she replied. She didn't blush. "This will only take a moment."

John was forced to roll up a sleeve. The Ancient pressed a cylinder to his bare arm and after a momentary heat, took it away. She repeated the process three more times with three different cylinders, her movements quick and efficient. She never once made eye contact with John, too focused on the read-outs the cylinders spewed than him. John forced himself to take deep, calm breaths, willing himself elsewhere. Just some hoops, then I'm out.

Except the thought carried no weight, and when the woman signaled she was finished, John wasn't filled with hope. There was a coal in his belly as he the five Overseers led him away from the med bay and towards darker, unlit tunnels, an anger that made him think less of negotiating and more of getting the hell out of this situation. But where to start? Now that he knew he was in an alternate reality, it wasn't as simple as getting put in stasis for seven hundred years. He would need a massive amount of energy to send him back.

The green flickering lights replaced the bright white ones the further down they traveled. At some point John's ears popped. The tunnels opened into an underground barrack of glowing white cells. In each stood or sat a Wraith.

John looked at his escorts. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"I'm sorry," Calmin said. His smile was insincere. "There is no other place to put you."

"Putting me in a room full of hungry Wraith? Yeah, that's a damn fine idea."

"They won't be able to feed on you," Lorric said. Somewhere a Wraith hissed softly. "Those gloves prevent them to. It's set to explode at any unauthorized feeding."

"And if they snap my neck?"

"We'll find out in a few hours when we check the cells," Calmin said without change of tone.

John could feel the Wraith watching him as he passed their cells, the brightness of the forcefields giving each a washed-out, sickly appearance. Vents blew cool air kept the worst of the humidity away, but John could still feel a layer of dampness settle on his skin. Though the ceilings were high and the floors clean and utilitarian, the man was uncomfortably reminded of Kolya's prison. Damn the man. John wished he could shoot the Genii again.

The Ancients stopped in front of a row of empty cells.

"Food and drink will be brought to you later," Lorric said as John was ushered in.

"There's still something that doesn't sit right," John said. The cell activated and white light flooded the box. Electricity stung his nose. "When I told you I was from the future, you didn't seem all that surprised."

The Ancient's face was blank. "Oh?"

"Lorric, let's go," Calmin said, turning away so only Lorric could see his expression.

When the guards were gone John took stock of his ten by ten space. There was a pallet to sleep on and a small nook where he could relieve himself. He turned in place, hands on hips. He walked close enough to the forcefield to feel the buzz in his teeth. The rows of cells were interconnected, each sharing a wall between them. It was harder to see the farther Wraith in the overlapping forcefields, but he could still see their dark suggestions. The electric hum filled the air. He lay down on the pallet and stared up, his mind as blank as the gray ceiling above him.

An indeterminate amount of time passed before he heard the main door hiss open. More Wraith began filling the cells around them, dusty from their day outside. John recognized several of them as the ones he'd seen in the field.

The last Wraith to enter the cell adjacent to John was none other than Guide himself, gloved hand clenched.

…

TBC