Disclaimer: Yes, my last disclaimer did say that I don't know them. As that is obvioulsy not the case, I guess I should make up for it and tell you that I don't own them, any of them in fact. I'm just playing. Pinky swear!

Author's Note: So, this is a little AU that's been bumming around in my head for some time. Finally got pen to paper tonight... or rather, fingers to keyboard, when I should probably have been focusing on my Anthropology essay that's due in... oh, tomorrow now. Any how, we'll just ignore that shall we... Oh, careful, I typed it fast and furious style, and seeing as I just did it tonight, it's obviously unbeta'd, though all my stories are... though usually I don't put them up this quick. So any mistakes are mine, and more likely to be a result of not checking rather than accidentally on purpose.

Like I may have mentiond, it's an AU for Epiphany, wherein Rodney's thoughts did not take such a short time to pan out... Dark and mean, so be warned!

They stand before him: half human still, half Ascended beings, their bodies encased in light and nothingness as they breach the threshold between this physical world and the higher plane of existence they are drawn to.

Teer holds out her hand, her eyes and lips soft and pitying as she offers what she knows he will not accept.

Come with us, she beckons, her voice light and distant, speaking from that higher plane. Her fingers bend slightly, and for a second he wants nothing more than to join her.

But he still holds out hope, even now, and he's not going to leave his friends nothing to find.

So he drops his hand from where it sits above hers, separated by inches and existence, and he shakes his head.

"I can't."

And her hand drops to her fading side, and she nods, accepting it because she had expected nothing less from him.

I hope you find what you are looking for, John Sheppard.

And she disappears, and her brother and sister disappear and suddenly he is alone, in the middle of the field where he had first fought the beast, and he doesn't know what to do.

So he turns and walks back to the cloister, feeling the ache of loneliness already pounding at his heart. But he refuses to give in.

He still holds out hope, even one year after he stepped into this very field.

He doesn't know what went wrong. He doesn't know why they haven't come yet. In his darkest hours – days… weeks – he battles thoughts of abandonment but he knows, deep down, that they are doing everything in their power to find him. He just never thought they would come across something that Rodney couldn't figure out.

In those first few weeks alone, he does two things daily.

Every morning when he gets up, he walks to a board he propped up by the well and makes another mark in it, counting the days that have passed since he had company.

When he can't bear to look at it anymore, he takes off, out of the cloister, and runs to the cave with the door, to see if they've come yet.

Sometimes he's rewarded with more supplies, but he can't help thinking that those supplies don't come often enough. And the knowledge that his friends are doing their best gets shoved a little deeper, where it's harder to find.

Time passes and the board fills up, and he turns it around to start on the other side. He keeps that morning ritual going, partly because he can't bear to stop, and partly because he doesn't know how to.

Weeks turn into months, and his daily trip to the cave becomes weekly. There's supplies there every time now but he wishes there were something else, a note, a message, just so he could really convince himself that they haven't given him up.

He stops marking the board when it becomes too full to take anymore. He lost count some time ago, but doesn't bother to check it now. He knows enough. He knows he's well into his third year.

He still makes weekly trips up to the cave, more so he doesn't have to hunt than any real belief that his friends are going to appear any day now. It's nearly been four years: if they could have found a way through, they would have.

He's so lonely it hurts. He hasn't spoke in over a year. He used to talk to himself, but can't see the point anymore. Doesn't see the point in anything.

But he's anything if not a survivalist. He keeps on going. Keeps on dragging himself out of bed, keeps on eating and running because he has nothing better to do. He used to joke with himself that when he got out of here he'd be able to beat even Ronon in a race, but those thoughts died a long time ago.

About the time he realized he couldn't remember what path they had raced on.

He's on automatic, and it works, because he can shut off and still stay alive, still stay sane. He keeps on going and just over four years in, his friends finally reward him for it.

He never thought that would make it worse.

"It's a time dilation field."

He almost doesn't hear Rodney's despairing voice. He's too shocked, stunned. At finding the camera, opening it, seeing his friend's faces appear. At seeing his friends after all this time. His friends who don't look like they have aged even a day in the four years he's been stuck in this god-awful damn place.

He tries to focus, tries to breathe, even as he can feel all those walls he had built up to protect himself, his life, his sanity… yeah, he can feel those walls crumbling.

"Basically," Rodney continues. "Time passes at a much faster rate in it than out."

He sounds hollow, guilty, grieving, but it's nothing compared to what Sheppard feels.

"I don't know exactly how long it's been for you but out here… you've been gone for a little over a day."

He doesn't know how fast it's been going either, but for a moment time stops. He can't breathe, can't hear, can't move because no, he's been stuck here for four goddamn years and he doesn't care how many hours it's been, it's still been four years.

He doesn't hear the rest. Doesn't hear Ronon telling him to hold on, or Teyla telling him they will find him, or Rodney promising to figure it out. The camera drops from his hand and he leaves the cave, leaves the supplies, leaves his friend's voices echoing.

Because he's still stuck in her and out there the world hasn't even noticed yet.

He doesn't know how he gets back, but when he does it's raining, and dark, and it suits his mood just fine thank you very much. He doesn't bother about food for the first time – at least, he thinks it's the first time – just walks into the house Teer used to share with her siblings, and looks around, not sure what he wants to say, or who he'd say it to. He only knows that whatever he said, it would be bitter and angry, and suddenly he's screaming, picking up a chair, and slamming it against the table. The wood breaks easily, quickly, shattering like the silence around him. He screams again, and he can't stop himself now, he just keeps on screaming, picking things up, that need to destroy something just pounding inside of him.

When he finishes, the room is destroyed, and his palms are bleeding, and he just can't find the will to care.

He doesn't get out of bed the next day.

He doesn't sleep either. Doesn't eat. Tries not to think. He doesn't try doing the math in his head, tries not to figure out how much of his life will waste away if even one more day passes out there.

He tries not to wonder if being fed on by a Wraith might be quicker. And infinitely less painful.

He just lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if it's even worth it. Wondering if he shouldn't have gone with Teer.

He lets go of the self-pity the next day.

He drags himself out of bed, gets something to eat from his stocks, and then runs up to the cave. He sees the camera and decides he can't watch the rest.

So he leaves that behind but takes the bags, gives the entrance one longing look, knowing his friends are just through there, before returning to the cloister.

Still the months go by and waits. He thinks about going up to the cave and just waiting there instead, for his friends, for a sign, for anything. But he doesn't. He knows it would be worse. He knows he couldn't stand to be separated from them by mere feet when they're so far away.

It comes up to six years and for the first time he doesn't work out how long has passed in the real world. He gets up, like usual. He goes for a run, like usual. And then he sits in the cloister, like usual, watching the time and his sanity slipping past too quickly for him to grab at.

And then when he can't stand sitting still anymore, he gets up, paces, wanders through the houses.

Before he knows it he's laughing. He's laughing and he can't stop, cause all of a sudden, the entire situation seems hilarious. He's bending over, he can't breathe, and he's laughing so hard that he's crying.

And then he's sobbing, and laughing and his knees collapse so he's ducking down, unable to hold himself up anymore. He falls back, so he's sitting, and he's still sobbing, but the laughter's gone now, and all he's doing is sitting there, in the middle of the room, crying.

And he doesn't realize it but he's finally broken.

The next day he doesn't get out of bed again.

In a week, he's back up at the cave. He's been there for nearly four days now. At least he thinks it's been four days. In the cave they all kind of melt together.

But he's waiting. He sits there, barely sleeping, or not sleeping, he's not sure. He's pretty sure he's not eating anymore.

But it all kind of melts together.

For the first time in years, he's clean shaven. He doesn't know how much worse it makes him look. He probably wouldn't care if he did know.

He's just waiting.

Finally he's rewarded. The cave shakes, and a pit forms in his stomach, he thinks it's nerves. But he just sits there, right in front of the black stone he passed through just over six years ago.

And then the camera appears, held out once more on a stick. What had he called it all those years ago, had made Rodney frown and roll his eyes?

He doesn't smile as he remembers. MALP on a stick.

He just looks at it, unable to form words, and not just because he's speechless. He hasn't spoken in years, he thinks it might be more than three. And now that he has the chance…

His mouth opens and closes wordlessly. The time passes, he's not sure how long, but he just stares down that camera.

And then finally his throat decides to work. He nods once, and then speaks for the first time in a long time. It makes him jump, and his voice is rusty with disuse, but it's his voice, louder than he thought it would be as he says the only thing he thinks his team needs to hear.

"I forgive you."

And then he gets up and leaves, walking slowly back to the cloister, feeling numb. And he doesn't go back to the cave again.

He doesn't get up the next day.

Or the next.

Or the next.

When the genius team from Atlantis finally figures out a way through, they know.

They know exactly how long it's been. McKay's been keeping them appraised, telling them in no uncertain terms exactly how much time has passed for their fearless leader.

Not only that. They know from the way that the scientist began to slow in his work. The way he started sighing, and trembling every now and then, as he looked at his watch. The way he would hang his head, the way his hands slowed their pace over the datapad in his lap.

Not only that. They all saw the tape. The video Sheppard made when he had seen the camera come through. Had heard his voice, though barely making it out, it was so soft with disrepair. So pale, and gaunt, and dull-eyed. They had all heard the ending in his voice. Had all heard, seen, known that their fearless leader, who had withstood so much, had been torn apart by loneliness.

So they know. They know all too well.

In the end it's Carson who finds him. The doctor doesn't even try, doesn't even bother checking the man's pulse. He knows. Knows by the way Sheppard doesn't wake as he approached. Knows by the way Sheppard doesn't stir or mutter. Knows by the way he looks so peaceful when he hasn't had a decent night sleep since arriving in Atlantis just over two years ago.

He leans back against the wall, and slides down it. The others find him like that, one at a time, and neither do they call the rest of the team. They just wait. The others will find them eventually.

They just wish Sheppard had had the same opportunity.

Told you it was mean. Yes, I killed Sheppard again. Would you believe me if I told you he was my favourite character!

If you like you can think of it as a shout-out to those who thought that cancelling SGA would be a good idea...

Anyways, it's late now, and I have to get up early to do this anthro essay... goddamn weak will...