[Fic] gently unto the morning (Stargate Atlantis)

29 Oct, 2026

gently unto the morning

John wakes to a burning in his chest, flaring throughout his body in time with his sluggish heartbeat. It takes a moment for the crust on his eyelashes to give way, and he hisses as he blinks, squinting into the bright light. “Ugh,” he groans, patting at his chest. “What tank hit me?”

“You require sustenance, Sheppard,” says Todd, looming over him. John groans again, turning his face away. Todd looms closer. “You are hurt. You require sustenance.”

“You’re the one who used me as sustenance,” John points out. His voice is weaker than he wants.

“This is our fourth loop,” says Todd, ignoring the perfectly valid point. “The device only has enough energy to loop us three more times. We require a new plan, John Sheppard.” There’s something very pointed about the way Todd says his name, and John blinks slowly.

“You’re telling me,” mutters John. With Todd’s help, he manages to sit up, gazing out at the ancient outpost surrounding them. It’s ancient in time, and Ancient in creation both, and in the millennia since it was abandoned, has become a wraith hive. That hive probably died out centuries ago, judging by the amount of gunk and dust and grime everywhere.

Todd alerted Atlantis to the outpost’s existence, and John volunteered to investigate, but oopsy-daisy, his ATA-gene combined with Todd’s presence set off an ancient device. ‘

Go figure.

Really, it’s basically par for the course. John should have packed more coffee.

“Okay, so we can’t blow it up, we can’t dump it, we can’t turn it off. What else is there to try?” John rubs an eye, hissing between clenched teeth as he walks. The movements rattle through his whole body, setting off his nerves again. And he was just starting to be able to ignore it. “I gotta warn you, whatever your plan is, I don’t think I’ll be of much help right now.”

“I have no plan,” says Todd. He hands John a water-flask, which is the only good thing about this time looping thing: at least he won’t run out of food in the loop, as everything inanimate resets together with time. Still, they’ve relived this three-day loop too many times already—John doesn’t relish doing this again.

Todd helps him to a cot, and John almost collapses on it. Fire bursts through his vein, the phrase barely just a metaphor. Crouching before him, Todd looks up at him. He palms John’s cheek, turning his head to stare into his eyes, and John breathes slowly. “Are you alright, John?” asks Todd, as softly as a wraith probbaly can.

“I’ll be fine.” Shaking his head, John doesn’t manage to dislodge Todd’s grip. He’s in too much pain right now to pretend it bothers him all that much. “We ruled out trying to attract attention and get help?”

“There’s too great a risk we’ll summon enemies. I’m afraid we must solve this on our own.”

“That sucks. I’m not really the science guy, you know. I’m more of the ‘break out of prison’ guy or the ‘blow the ship up’ kind of guy.”

Todd seems to smile, for a second. “It’s a pity our plan to blow it up didn’t work.”

“Yeah. It really was an awesome explosion.” John sighs.

The problem: while inanimate objects resets on a loop, people don’t. And Todd can’t eat inanimate things. Which means: his only food-source is John. And John doesn’t reset, either. Ergo, John is being slowly sapped of his life—literally—with every subsequent loop. They need to get off this place so Todd can feed on some pour soul—ideally a wraith drone—and give John the ‘gift of life’. Or he might very well not even make it to the last loop.

Todd stands. “I’ll go over the device again. See if I can find anything new.”

“You’ve studied that thing under a metaphorical microscope for over a week. What are you going to find now? I still think destroying it is out best bet.”

“Still, for my peace of mind.” Todd leaves him with the water, and John watches him go. He’s not far, actually, there’s only a wall or two in between them. And this place has enough energy left for John to ‘connect’ to the outpost, in that unexplained ATA-gene way. It’s nowhere near as strong as Atlantis, but it’s enough to give him a general sense of security. He can vaguely get the sense of where Todd goes, which at least lets John rest in relaxation for a couple of minutes. Well, it’s more like an hour, but John is currently twice as old as he was two weeks ago, so forgive him some extra indulgence.

He’s really starting to gain a new appreciation for naps.

After his nap, John tracks down Todd. The wraith is bent over the device that is the cause of all their misery. It’s an innocuous thing: smaller than Todd’s hand, a slate gray color, with a gentle humming emanating from it. It feels warm and welcoming to John’s senses. To Todd, it apparently feels like dunking his whole body in ice-cold water. Wraith are more sensitive to temperatures than humans, so that’s really saying something.

“How’s it going?” John trudges over, sitting down next to him. A bunch of wraith tech tools are laid out on the floor, and John pokes at one of them.

“Don’t touch that,” says Todd, nabbing it before John’s fingertips can make contact. “And no, I’m afraid. I understand more or less how it works, I believe. But the intricacies on how to stop it alludes me, to my shame.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” John pats his shoulder. “Hey, do you want to just try taking it apart this time? Like, let’s not break it, but pull it apart to the smallest possible components? See what happens?”

Todd sighs. “It’s an idea as good as any other.”

◈◈◈

It doesn’t work.

◈◈◈

“Hey,” rasps John, blinking to awareness. It’s slow-going, his heartbeat sluggish and his thoughts even slower. The world is a dark tunnel, his bleary gaze scuttling from silhouette to silhouette until Todd comes into focus.

“Sheppard,” says Todd. His voice always conveys so many emotions, and John shivers. Todd palms his cheeks, the feeding-hand on his skin, and yet not eating. That causes another shiver, a shimmer of attention dragged out of John’s tired mind. “I’m taking too much,” says Todd, peering into John’s eyes. “You’re fading

“How many loops?” mumbles John.

“Two left.” Todd give shim the customary water again, and John slowly sips. He lets the water linger on his dry, heavy tongue before he swallows. “It didn’t work,” says Todd, rubbing salt in the wound.

“Yeah, I figured.” John flaps a wrinkly hand. “Help me up.”

“Where do you want to go?” Todd helps him, taking his weight when John’s legs almost buckle. Todd’s inhuman eyes narrow. “We’ve already tried getting out of range of the device. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t think I’ll last til the last loop,” says John, starting to walk. Despite his words, Todd follow, supporting him and letting John lead. “And honestly, I’m feeling pretty sick right now. We’ve been doing nothing but this for weeks, and I’m tired of it. I need a break, Todd. I need to relax.”

Todd looks at him, studying him, gaze heavy. “I suppose it might do us well.”

“You don’t gotta join me if you’re that eager to get your ass kicked by mysterious Ancient technology again,” drawls John. He raises an eyebrow, then he winces, hissing as he steps badly on a root. Todd keeps him upright, but it’s awkward. The outpost has been overtaken by the wraith hive: it has grown around, upon, below. Every hall is a narrow thing, light suspended by by the spiderwebs of dark hive-growth. John doesn’t even know what to call it. But it has subsumed the ship, turned into something distinctly inhuman in both nature and appearance.

It makes it difficult to make way though, the growths having gone in every nonsensical direction. It’s not very human friendly and more importantly, all the Ancient tech they need is buried under a veritable mountain of Hive. There’s no real remaining wraith-tech, either, nothing for Todd to really scavenge to assist them.

Todd settle him on a bench-like wraith structure. It’s not really a bench, clearly, but it’s vaguely the right shape to sit on without straining his limbs. John exhales deeply.

“What do you want to do, Sheppard?” asks Todd, crouching before him. He’s tall, still. The floor is uneven, too, and John is kind of swallowed by the wall in his little nook. Todd takes up the whole world in front of him, but it’s a nice feeling. It’s familiarity in this strange world, in this alien and inhumane station. The outpost still bares just enough traces of Ancient architecture—the layout especially—for it to be extra unsettling consumed by a wraith hive. And John has seen a lot of unsettling things over the years since coming to Atlantis: his tolerance for unsettling is unsettlingly high, according to Rodney.

But this is a bit too much, even for him.

“I have no idea,” says John, sighing. “I have a deck of cards with me, if you feel like joining me for a game. Otherwise I can play Solitaire, alone, unwanted, abandoned, totally useless—”

“I see your point.” Todd rises only to then sit down next to John. It’s a bit snug; they’re shoved in tight together and Todd doesn't’ seem to have any inclination to move. John’s too tired to fight this and honestly, the warmth of another body does his poor health well. And it’s just nice, to have such solid evidence he’s not alone in this trap.

John pulls the card deck out and says, “We’re playing Go Fish.”

“You’ll have to teach me the rules.” Todd accepts the cards as John hands him then, after having shuffled the deck rather expertly, he might add.

It’s actually fun.

Well, John thought it would be fun or he wouldn’t have suggested it, but it’s even more amusing than he thought. There’s just something so entertaining about a wraith holding cards and saying “Go Fish” with utmost seriousness. John chuckles more than his aching chest appreciates.

They play four rounds before Todd decides he must leave to continue his work. “I’ll try it your way,” says Todd before he goes.

“Explode it?” John knows full it won’t work. It has technically already exploded on them, even if that wasn’t the intent, and it didn’t work then, no reason it should work now. But John’s starting to really hate the thing, and it makes him feel better to imagine it as a fiery bomb, descending into oblivion. Never to be used again, never to be able to trap anybody else.

Damn, but sometimes he really hates the Ancients.

About two hours later, John’s bladder is doing it’s thing, and he shuffles off to find the designated make-shift toilet. It’s nasty, but John’s a soldier—he’s literally walked through far nastier. And anyway, with the doom and gloom of the wraith hive, it really does fit right in, he thinks, peeing on the wall without hesitation. It makes him feel a bit better, too, in a very petty way.

Once he’s done, he munches on a THING as he makes his way to Todd. Todd’s in the middle of pulling out all the little crystals powering the thing. There seems to be thousands of them, some broken. “Do you know what all those do?” asks John, standing next to him.

Todd glances at him. “You look better,” he says, dragging his gaze up and down John’s body with so much intensity it’s almost physically touching him. John shivers, taking another bite. He chews perhaps extra obnoxiously, just to make a point.

He doesn’t know which point, but he trusts he’s made it.

“So how it’s going? You think it’ll work this time?”

“I don’t have the tools I need to truly take it apartment,” says Todd, almost sighing. He runs a hand over one of the crystals. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to work, either, Sheppard.”

“Sucks.” John shrugs. He winces, pressing his hand to his chest. “Shit.”

Todd narrows his eyes. “You need to rest.”

“I know, I know, it’s just boring.” John does sit down though, because he really does need to rest. He thought it was marginally better, but turns out his mind was just playing tricks on him. Go figure.

He sits next to Todd, and it only takes a few seconds before John tips over and rests his weight on him, too. Todd bears it without trouble, adjusting to John has an easier time resting his head on Todd’s shoulder. The leather coat he wears is surprisingly comfortable to lie on. “Rest, and I will keep working.”

“Okay.” John’s eyes are already sliding shut.

◈◈◈

It doesn’t work this time, either.

◈◈◈

John doesn’t move for a long time. He just lies on the floor, trying to keep his breathing steady, his pulse slow. It works fairly well, but that might be because he’s on the edge of passing out. Groaning, he tries to swat Todd away when the wraith gets his hands under John’s body and lifts him up.

“Just let me die in piece,” mutters John, eyes still shut, voice too weak to really add the levity the joke needs.

Todd says, “I’m afraid I can’t let you die yet, John Sheppard.”

It’s a very formal rejection of John’s only mostly-joking possibly-last words. His whole body aches, his limbs tremble with weakness, his muscles spasmsing uncontrollably. His mouth is dry, throat drier, his eyelashes shaking as he forces them open just enough to squint up at Todd. It’s almost infuriating, how much strength Todd still has. It’s less than when they first arrived, of course, because he’s only had John to feed on, but it’s still unfair.

Todd lays him down on an at least softer surface, though it’s nowhere near a bed. “I will figure this out, John,” he says. “Have no fear.” He gets John the water flask, holding it up to John’s mouth. John glares at him, then sighs and accepts the help. His hands are too weak to lift all the way, and Todd is at least careful to let the water only be a trickle, easy to swallow.

“Do you think we’ll die here?” asks John. He’s not usually so defeatist, but the repeated feedings without the ‘Gift of Life’ has worn him down. He feels out of sorts, like he’s only partly connected to his body.

He’s getting uncomfortably used to being fed on by wraith.

“I won’t let us,” says Todd. He raises John’s head, making it easier to John to swallow the water. John’s is old and sagging and gray-haired, and he’s barely managing to stay awake. He thinks Todd sounds worried. It’s not something he’s used to from Todd, and it manages to drag some more awareness out of John.

“Yeah, I know,” mumbles John. “I trust you.”

Todd’s grip tightens. It relaxes before it can hurt, and before John’s heart can speed up in panic. The feeding hand is something that he’s getting too used, too. It used to freak him out like nothing else, but lately that fear has been replaced by a perplexing familiarity. Todd is good, in a way suspicious way. He’s clearly leveraging Atlantis in some kind of internal wraith power struggle, and he’s clearly using them to knock out his rivals, any threats to his position. But he offers good, solid intel, too, and he’s helped them out in what’s starting to be too many crises’ to count.

Maybe he’s done so selfishly, maybe he’s used their crises to get something he wants out of them. But he’s always helped, truly.

And alone in the Pegasus galaxy, five years into a war for their very species and encountering baffling threats one after another—of which quite a few were directly created by the Ancients, by the way—Todd’s help is very, very useful.

So John does trust him.

He does let Todd feed on him, now, because he has faith Todd will get them out of this.

Even though it hurts. Even though his very life is leeched right out of him.

John trusts him.

“Conserve your strength,” says Todd, lying him back down again. He spreads the heat-blanket over John, which isn’t truly needed. Like all wraith hives, this place is uncomfortably hot for humans.

Todd leaves for a couple of minutes. Or maybe hours. It’s hard to tell: John is fading in and out of consciousness too much to keep track of him. He does his best to stay awake, because he doesn’t want to be useless. He hates this, as much as he trusts Todd. He hates he can’t help, that even his ATA-gene doesn’t allow them any slack. He hates that all he can do is lie here, and look at the ceiling.

He hates being useless. There’s not anything to shoot at here, nothing to negotiate with. He can’t even banter with a new enemy, which is always a very fun way to put them on the back-foot. Until they get used to him, that is. Then they just tend to violent.

Like that bastard Kolya.

At least Kolya is very, very dead. Todd made sure of that, even somehow engineering it so John and his team ended up in the same place at just the right time to watch Todd feed upon that bastard until he died.

It had been horrifying. Electrifying. John has been viciously, viciously satisfied to see Kolya go out like that, without even the dignity of dying in battle.

Todd comes back eventually, of course. He has John’s rations with him, and he breaks them into small, digestible pieces so John doesn’t have to chew so much. It’s humiliating, but John knows to take the help offered without fuss. Todd doesn’t technically have to help him so much—it’s enough as long as alive enough to feed on. But Todd shows John the same level of care and detail he always has.

“You know, it’d be funny if I died here.” John feels a bit stronger after his eaten and drank again. He looks at Todd. “Wouldn’t it? After everything we’ve been through, and it’d be an Ancient device doing me out.”

“I don’t believe the device is meant to hurt you.” Todd shakes his head. “It clearly turned on thanks to your gene, when you first touched it. And the Ancients were arrogant, yes, but they wouldn’t make a weapon that would kill them. They were far too self-important for that.”

“But they would make one to kill wraith,” says John. “And humans, can’t forget that.”

“They would.” Todd stills. He looks over his shoulder, back toward the device’s room. “They would do something like this, to kill wraith. Or just to delay us. The time field is limited to the outpost, it wouldn’t effect…”

“And the hive died out, somehow.” John’s mind is waking up, thoughts starting to drag around it. “They would mess with time just to trap you. And for some reason, a wraith hive developed here, so there must have been something here that they wanted. Or that drew them here…”

“I need to study it again. I must have missed something,” says Todd. He helps John into a more comfortable position. “Are you good here?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” John tries to wave him off, but he doesn’t quite manage to get his arm to cooperate. It just kind flaps about for a second. Todd nods, giving him one last, long look, and then leaves for the device.

It doesn’t take long after that for John to pass out, again.

He wakes a few times, but never long enough to form proper, coherent thoughts. It’s only when Todd gently shakes him that John wakes properly, blinking blearily and squinting at him. “I figured it out, John,” says Todd, more somber than he’s ever been. “I’m going to fix it.”

“Knew you could do it,” mumbles John, barely audible. His head lolls until Todd catches it, holding him still and staring into his eyes.

“I’m going to fix everything,” says Todd. He sounds so serious. John blinks, and there are two Todd’s in front of him. It takes him a second to realize that’s probbaly a him probably, and Todd hasn’t been cloned or something. Like, if a Todd from another universe popped up, he’d notice, right? He thinks he’d notice. It seems pretty noticeable, even out of it as he is.

Todd places his feeding hand on John’s chest. John’s heart doesn’t even pound in fear anymore, the sensation familiar. It tickles. And it’s kind of warm, in a weird way. It’s not really slimy, though you’d think it is. Todd’s good about only feeding for short period’s of time, making sure he never takes so much that it taxes each time. Still, the amount of times he’s been fed upon, because Todd was already pretty close to starving when they arrived, and he’s been focusing on not taking too much from John.

But it’s been accumulating for a while now. The feedings, the strain and stress on his body as a result. John’s tired, and now when Todd moves to feed again, he relaxes into it, sighing as he waits for the familiar pain.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, there is pleasure.

The Gift of Life is an almost indescribable thing. It’s pleasure on the most deepest of levels, almost orgasmic, but more, somehow. It courses through him, the return of Life stolen setting his nerves alight. The pleasure-senses of his brain light up like fireworks, and he moans, arching into Todd’s hand.

When it’s over, John just lies there. He pants, sweating, little balls of pleasure still traveling through his nerves. His toes are curled, and his mouth open, his chest heaving as he breathes harshly.

Todd is no longer above him, when John finally opens his eyes. Furrowing his eyebrows, John croaks, “Todd?” He pushes himself up onto his elbows, glancing around.

Todd’s on the floor.

He’s not moving.

“Todd!” John scrambles over to him, heart in his throat, and he shoves Todd onto his back. The wraith is pale—paler than he should be—his eyes shut and he doesn’t react to John’s touches. To his voice. “Fuck, man, what did you do?” he mutters, brushing Todd’ hair back and examining his face.

John’s hands are no longer old. They’re young, as he vaguely remember his hands should look like. Like, he doesn’t spend a lot of time worrying about his hands, or what they look like, so he doesn’t have a clear image of them. But they’re clearly not the frail, skinny, wrinkly-skinned fingers they’ve recently.

“Fuck.”

Okay. Okay, so Todd gave John his life back. That’s fine, that’s good. That’s really good. Now John’s in tiptop shape and can figure out whatever Todd figured out that made him do… this.

“Todd?” John pulls Todd’s eyelids open, and his eyes don’t react to the light. Wraith don’t die like humans do. They’re cells don’t degrade, don’t fall apart. They can last in hibernation for literal millennia. In fact, they might last even longer, the species as a whole isn’t old enough for anybody to know.

But Todd doesn’t respond. He’s not breathing, in the peculiar way wraith breathes. His pupils don’t respond to light. Even when John places Todd’s feeding hand back on his chest, where the wound no longer is, Todd doesn’t react. Even when John presses it tight to the skin, tries to place the mouth right where it usually feeds, there’s no response.

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.

“No, no, no,” mutters John, bending over the fallen wraith. “Come on, don’t do this now. Why would you even—” But of course. Of course. This is a trap. It’s probably a wraith trap. The hive died out, leaving hardly no corpses behind.

Todd gave John the Gift of Life. He gave John… everything, maybe. Every little bit stored. Wraith can’t die, they don’t even die from starvation, they just go into hibernation. But even in hibernation, if there’s prey right in front of them, they’ll react. They can’t help it, because they are s t a r v i n g.

Todd isn’t reacting. He isn’t feeding.

He gave John everything.

John gulps, harshly. He shoves at Todd, but the wraith is… nonreactive. John’s never known Todd to not react to him, respond to him, even in the most dire of circumstances. Todd is, actually, pretty damn responsive to John. There’s a reason John is Atlantis’ liaison with Todd. There’s a reason Todd came to him with this, and why Atlantis let them go off alone. There’s a reason why John felt safe to come into a potentially hostile situation in wraith territory, with nobody but a wraith to accompany him.

Shit. Todd can’t die. John’s not letting him. They’re going to go out in fiery flames, if he has anything say about it.

A wraith sacrificing himself for a human? Who’s ever heard of that? Not John, and he’s not letting it be a thing now. “Damn it all to hell,” he mutters, and he drags over the med-kit they brought with them. It does include some stuff for wraith, for ‘just in case’. John hurries to open it, spilling half the things inside all over the floor. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he came out of the throng. He doesn’t know how dead Todd is. He doesn’t know how much life Todd really gave him.

His hands shake. It’s from the remnants of weakness, he tells himself. Or it’s muscle spasms. Either way, it’s nothing to worry about. He should worry about Todd. And about himself. How’s he going to get out of this territory without Todd’s help? He doesn’t think Todd’s hive is going to be very inclined to help him if Todd’s dead because of him.

Focus, focus, focus. “Focus.” John exhales, deeply, and moves onto the wraith objects. It’s not really medicine, because the wraith don’t do paltry mortal things like ‘medicine’. But Todd is a scientist, and he’s very concerned about his hive. It isn’t very big, so any loss would be exponentially more damaging than wraiths lost in normal hives.

So there are a few—few!—things inside that pack that could help. Maybe. If everything aligns. If Todd actually planned this crazy move properly and didn’t just go out on a wild limb without a safety net.

Maybe it’ll work.

The first syringe he plunges into Todd’s body doesn’t make a difference. Neither does the second. Nor the third. The fourth thing is a liquid meant to be taking orally, actually, which is awkward because John has a moment of crises where he’s not sure which of Todd’s mouth apply. He does the normal, humanoid face mount first, massaging Todd’s throat to try to make it go down further. Then he does the hand-mouth; he holds Todd’s arm up as high as he goes, figuring he might as well make use of gravity. Then he pries the hand-mouth open with his fingers, which is gross and kind of violating and he hates every moment of it. Todd would hate it, too, he’s pretty sure.

Then he pours the rest of the liquid into the mouth.

Some of it spills out. He does his best to poke it back in, his fingertips tickling every time he touches the hand-mouth. It’s a small thing, in the middle of Todd’s palm. A dangerous thing. A thing that’s haunted John’s nightmares.

It doesn’t instantly work, even when he’s gotten every drop he can wrangle into Todd, so he moves onto the last piece of suspicious liquid. It has a bit of a glow to it, which the others didn’t. It’s labeled DANGER which the others also weren’t.

John’s breathing is unsteady. It’s been, for a while now. His hands still tremble. They shouldn’t. It was just a reaction from the Gift of Life. That’s passed now. He’s fine. He’s completely fine.

He kneels by Todd’s head and tilts it back, cradling the wraith’s jaw. “Sorry about this,” he murmurs, and forces Todd’s mouth open. It’s a dark cavern swallowing all light, he breathes in as he slowly trickles down the liquid. He tries to make it only a few drops at a time, so Todd doesn’t choke on it. He massages Todd’s throat again, trying to get into down into his system. But he’s not sure if Todd can even digest anything ingested from his human-mouth.

Still, he’s gotta try.

He’s dripped in half the flask’s glowing liquid by the time he stops. He puts it aside. He stares at Todd’s face, slack in his unconsciousness. “Please don’t die on me,” says John, voice low.

His heart squeezes.

Todd’s head in his lap, John runs his fingers through Todd’s hair. He wants to wait a few seconds before he tries to get the rest of the last liquid into the hand-mouth. Just in case. But nausea sits in the pit of his stomach, acid in the back of his throat. The world’s spinning, and Todd’s so, so still, and John doesn’t know what else to do.

He doesn’t know how to help Todd.

He gets the rest of the liquid into the hand-mouth, eventually. And then he just waits. He sits on the floor with Todd’s head in his lap, and he just looks at Todd. There’s nothing else to do. His finger fiddle with Todd’s white hair. It’s not quite the same texture as human hair. It’s hard to explain the difference.

It takes a long, long time.

Hours, really.

But Todd moves, eventually.

His eyelids open slowly, one tiny bit a time. His fingers twitch upon his chest, and after another long while he breathes in. His eyes open fully. He looks up at John, and focus comes into them almost instantaneously.

“Hey,” says John, and smiles. “How you feeling?”

“Did it work?” Todd’s voice is rougher than usual. And it’s pretty rough, usually. He doesn’t move from John’s lap, either, even though he must know where he is.

“Too early to tell,” says John.

Todd’s eyes narrow. “We’ll try again later, if not.”

John really hopes not. They’re all out of Todd’s weird wraith tonics.

◈◈◈

It worked.

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#Fandom: Stargate #Post Type: Fic #Rating: Teen #Status: Complete #Tag: Hurt/Comfort #Tag: Time Travel/Loop #WC: 5000-10000