Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Of any kind. Or any type. I just own
my OC's. WAIT! Don't stop reading. This isn't any form of 'perfect'
mutant. There will not be any pairings outwith the 'expected' pairings.
This is not a fic like that. I also know that you seen people write that
too. So I have written this in order to say it's not going to be a fic
like that, either. Those of you who have read my small humour fics will
know who the Four Amigos are. However, this story concerns mainly Piter
and Dean.
With-a-one and a-two and a-one-two-three-four:
&&&&&&
It was hot.
There was no other adjective to describe the temperature. It was hot. It was the type of temperature that drove dogs mad and killed birds in their nests. Heat came off the dusty ground in shimmering waves. It was a killing heat.
And there was someone out in it.
The blonde-haired man staggered slowly across the dry plains, sweat eroding grainy rivulets down his dusty face. His eyes were glazed. His walking was slowing. He could feel, very slightly, slight twinges in his body as he began to dehydrate. He was dying. He knew it.
"I am the master of this land..." He whispered, the words hissing out around him. He took a step forward, stumbled, and fell face down on the ground, his hands flung out in front of him.
His fingers dug into the dirt around him, which crumbled and collapsed with ease. I am the master of this sand, he thought bitterly.
It was strange. His mind was working perfectly. It was yelling at his body to dig through the earth, get to the cooler undersoil layer, wait out the day, and travel at night when it was cooler. His body, though, was sluggish, as if he was underwater.
Water...
His hand found a stone, and held on to it. "The bastard couldn't even spare me a drop of it!" He sobbed, crushing the roasting stone in his agony.
Tears stung his eyes. Immediately, he composed himself. Tears would be a waste of his body's water. He needed to survive, he needed to... but for what?
"Once again, you're in trouble, brother."
The voice startled him. He lifted his head off of the ground, feeling the weight of gravity push down at him. A raven stared at him.
"You must remember what I told you when you joined that group, don't you? I said it would lead you to no good, and now look where you are..."
The voice was of his sister. He remembered it, even though she was long dead, her skin as taught as paper, her bones and teeth rotting deep underground.
I'm delirious, he thought with sudden light-headedness. The heat is starting to affect my mental functions, making me hear things that aren't possible...
"I'm not possible, eh? You remember me well enough when you were a child, why am I not possible now?"
She's reading my mind! Well... let her. It's not as if she's going to read much of it soon. He swatted his hand out lazily, startling the scavenger, causing it to leap back with a harsh cry. His hand scraped across the grit of the ground, splitting his skin open.
He looked at his hand with a detached mind. He could see his wound. Blood was slowly oozing from it. It was not closing as it usually did with him.
"It's not closing because you're dying." His sister's voice snapped. "You're genetic power is over-stressed right now. It's trying it's hardest to win a losing battle against your organs shutting down. You know it because you can feel it, and I know it because I'm dead."
He reached forward, trying to drag his body along the ground. His legs did not seem to be responding. She's not real, he said to himself. Your mind is stressed, and it's giving the illusion that your sister is trying to talk to you...
"Well, if I'm an illusion, I'm pretty convincing, am I not?" The voice was to his right, just above him. He twisted his head, his neck muscles screaming in agony. Harsh sunlight glared into his eyes, nearly blinding him. No-one was there.
"Oh, come on." Her voice was now behind him. "If I am an illusion, there's no need to try and make myself visible to you. Already you're becoming blind from the sunlight reflecting off the ground."
"Shut up..." He croaked. There was a flutter of wings. The raven was back, with some more of its kin. He tried to pull himself up, frighten the birds off, but his arms wouldn't respond. The birds hopped towards his prone form.
"Listen to me, brother. If you stay out here in the sun, you are going to die too. You have to get under some shade before it's too late."
"Shut up!" He sobbed. The birds hopped back at the outburst of noise. Lecturing, ordering... She never stopped, not even when she was dead.
"I'm lecturing you now because that's all I can do. Listen, water is being sucked out of your body from the sun. You're starting to stop sweating. You can feel your blood thickening. You are dangerously low on water. Another five minutes out in this weather, and you'll be dead."
The birds hopped back towards him. He closed his eyes, and then realised how cool it had suddenly gotten...
"NO!" Her voice yelled. "It's not cooling down! You're suffering from extreme heat exhaustion. It's an illusion! You have to listen to me!"
An illusion like you? He wanted to say, but his mouth didn't open. His dry and cracked lips stuck together as if by glue. The birds came closer.
"Listen! You are on a road. There's bound to be someone on this godforsaken place. They'll notice the birds surrounding you. If you get under that stone..." He opened one eye lazily, seeing a rock in front of him. "There's a chance of you surviving this. If you don't do that, you'll not live."
There was a sharp sensation of a beak clawing into his cut hand. He shot out his other hand, catching the raven. It crowed, a loud ululation, then he closed his fist, breaking its fragile body in two. He let the corpse drop from his hand onto the ground. His muscles were in twice as much pain as before.
"Always the violent way, eh brother?" Her tone was mocking, but angry. "You know that won't get you anywhere."
Why doesn't she shut up and help me, the bitch? He wondered. Can't she see I'm dying out here?
"Of course I can!" She yelled. "I realised that long before you did! I can't pick you up. However, you can do it yourself." He heard her breathe in deeply. "Get up, and go under that rock. Someone will find you."
His hands clawed into the dust, straining against the ground's grain, pulling his body agonisingly slow over it. The ravens stopped inspecting him, and now were feeding on their companion's body. What a waste, he thought. Another thought struck him. That bird will still have some blood in it. If I went back...
"Forget that." Her voice snapped. "The blood will just make you thirstier. Remember that blood is salty. It'll just make your thirst worse. You must get under that rock."
He continued dragging himself forward, accompanied by the sound of feasting scavengers. His hand went under some shade. It could only have been at least three degrees colder, but it felt like pure heaven to his abused body.
"Good. Now drag the rest of your body under the rock." He strained, his body throbbing with the heat and pain, but he managed it. The shadow of the rock covered his face. He let out a slow sigh, feeling himself start to cool.
"Remember what happened here today, brother." His sister said. "Remember who did this to you, and who killed me. Remember that was the reason that got you here. Remember who betrayed you and left you to die. Remember all of that. I know you are in a lot of pain, but you must remember that."
He tried to nod, but he could no longer move his neck. He instead gasped, the dry air mingled with dust being drawn into his lungs.
"Rest here for a while, brother. You'll get picked up and sent to a hospital." He agreed. He needed to rest. Yes, tiredness must be the reason why he was stating to lose his sight and why his chest was feeling so heavy. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep.
&&&&&&
Time had passed, he didn't know how long. The shade had done some good, he was still alive, he could feel the dryness of the earth and his skin, he knew he was still alive. He heard footsteps across the earth. Not another illusion, he thought feebly. He half-opened one eyelid. There was someone in front of him.
"Jesus..." The figure whispered. It then turned back to the truck. "He's still alive! Quick, bring him some water!" There was more rushing feet. He heard a slopping, thudding sound as well. Someone gripped his chin, and forced it open.
"What's with his teeth?" Another voice said. "I don't know..." The first figure said. He felt something made of plastic bump against his lips, and then felt something fluid and cool slip down his throat. It was... it was... it was... what?
Water! He remembered! He needed it to live! He gasped, and shot forward, grabbing the bottle and drinking all of its contents. Someone yelled. He didn't care. He already felt the liquid entering his body. There was the sound of a cap being unscrewed, and someone threw more water on his face. It washed away his dry sweat and tears from his face, bathing him in coolness.
"What do we do?" "We get him to a hospital is what we do." "Is he going to be okay?" Another voice, someone younger by the sound of it. "I don't know. He drank an awful lot in one sitting. He might react violently to that." There was a sigh. "C'mon, let's get him on the truck, cover him with the tarpaulin. That'll keep him cool enough 'till we get him to a hospital."
There was the distant sensation of someone grabbing him round the arms. "Heavy bastard..." He heard someone groan. "Get his legs, okay?" Someone else snatched his ankles, and he felt himself being moved. He was dumped suddenly on a metal surface, causing his breath to be pushed out of him with a sudden cry.
"Watch it!" There was a rummaging sound; someone was grabbing the dog tags he had around his neck. He tried to wave them off, but his arms felt as heavy as lead. There was a dry, rustling sound, and he felt some type of material cover him, keeping the accursed sun off of him.
"What's that you got?" "Something off from his neck. Weird... they look like the real McCoy..." "What do you mean?" "These are military-type dog tags except... his rank isn't on them."
John looked at them, the sun glinting into his eyes. "Well, is his name on them?" He asked.
Paul shaded the dog tags from the sun, and peered at the lettering. "Yeah..." He looked back at the misshapen lump under the tarpaulin. "His name is..." He peered back at the dog tags, trying to pronounce the strange name. "Mac-ill-van-ee..." He blinked. "His name is McIllvanney..." He turned back to the tarpaulin, and shivered slightly in the evening sun.
R&R everyone.
With-a-one and a-two and a-one-two-three-four:
&&&&&&
It was hot.
There was no other adjective to describe the temperature. It was hot. It was the type of temperature that drove dogs mad and killed birds in their nests. Heat came off the dusty ground in shimmering waves. It was a killing heat.
And there was someone out in it.
The blonde-haired man staggered slowly across the dry plains, sweat eroding grainy rivulets down his dusty face. His eyes were glazed. His walking was slowing. He could feel, very slightly, slight twinges in his body as he began to dehydrate. He was dying. He knew it.
"I am the master of this land..." He whispered, the words hissing out around him. He took a step forward, stumbled, and fell face down on the ground, his hands flung out in front of him.
His fingers dug into the dirt around him, which crumbled and collapsed with ease. I am the master of this sand, he thought bitterly.
It was strange. His mind was working perfectly. It was yelling at his body to dig through the earth, get to the cooler undersoil layer, wait out the day, and travel at night when it was cooler. His body, though, was sluggish, as if he was underwater.
Water...
His hand found a stone, and held on to it. "The bastard couldn't even spare me a drop of it!" He sobbed, crushing the roasting stone in his agony.
Tears stung his eyes. Immediately, he composed himself. Tears would be a waste of his body's water. He needed to survive, he needed to... but for what?
"Once again, you're in trouble, brother."
The voice startled him. He lifted his head off of the ground, feeling the weight of gravity push down at him. A raven stared at him.
"You must remember what I told you when you joined that group, don't you? I said it would lead you to no good, and now look where you are..."
The voice was of his sister. He remembered it, even though she was long dead, her skin as taught as paper, her bones and teeth rotting deep underground.
I'm delirious, he thought with sudden light-headedness. The heat is starting to affect my mental functions, making me hear things that aren't possible...
"I'm not possible, eh? You remember me well enough when you were a child, why am I not possible now?"
She's reading my mind! Well... let her. It's not as if she's going to read much of it soon. He swatted his hand out lazily, startling the scavenger, causing it to leap back with a harsh cry. His hand scraped across the grit of the ground, splitting his skin open.
He looked at his hand with a detached mind. He could see his wound. Blood was slowly oozing from it. It was not closing as it usually did with him.
"It's not closing because you're dying." His sister's voice snapped. "You're genetic power is over-stressed right now. It's trying it's hardest to win a losing battle against your organs shutting down. You know it because you can feel it, and I know it because I'm dead."
He reached forward, trying to drag his body along the ground. His legs did not seem to be responding. She's not real, he said to himself. Your mind is stressed, and it's giving the illusion that your sister is trying to talk to you...
"Well, if I'm an illusion, I'm pretty convincing, am I not?" The voice was to his right, just above him. He twisted his head, his neck muscles screaming in agony. Harsh sunlight glared into his eyes, nearly blinding him. No-one was there.
"Oh, come on." Her voice was now behind him. "If I am an illusion, there's no need to try and make myself visible to you. Already you're becoming blind from the sunlight reflecting off the ground."
"Shut up..." He croaked. There was a flutter of wings. The raven was back, with some more of its kin. He tried to pull himself up, frighten the birds off, but his arms wouldn't respond. The birds hopped towards his prone form.
"Listen to me, brother. If you stay out here in the sun, you are going to die too. You have to get under some shade before it's too late."
"Shut up!" He sobbed. The birds hopped back at the outburst of noise. Lecturing, ordering... She never stopped, not even when she was dead.
"I'm lecturing you now because that's all I can do. Listen, water is being sucked out of your body from the sun. You're starting to stop sweating. You can feel your blood thickening. You are dangerously low on water. Another five minutes out in this weather, and you'll be dead."
The birds hopped back towards him. He closed his eyes, and then realised how cool it had suddenly gotten...
"NO!" Her voice yelled. "It's not cooling down! You're suffering from extreme heat exhaustion. It's an illusion! You have to listen to me!"
An illusion like you? He wanted to say, but his mouth didn't open. His dry and cracked lips stuck together as if by glue. The birds came closer.
"Listen! You are on a road. There's bound to be someone on this godforsaken place. They'll notice the birds surrounding you. If you get under that stone..." He opened one eye lazily, seeing a rock in front of him. "There's a chance of you surviving this. If you don't do that, you'll not live."
There was a sharp sensation of a beak clawing into his cut hand. He shot out his other hand, catching the raven. It crowed, a loud ululation, then he closed his fist, breaking its fragile body in two. He let the corpse drop from his hand onto the ground. His muscles were in twice as much pain as before.
"Always the violent way, eh brother?" Her tone was mocking, but angry. "You know that won't get you anywhere."
Why doesn't she shut up and help me, the bitch? He wondered. Can't she see I'm dying out here?
"Of course I can!" She yelled. "I realised that long before you did! I can't pick you up. However, you can do it yourself." He heard her breathe in deeply. "Get up, and go under that rock. Someone will find you."
His hands clawed into the dust, straining against the ground's grain, pulling his body agonisingly slow over it. The ravens stopped inspecting him, and now were feeding on their companion's body. What a waste, he thought. Another thought struck him. That bird will still have some blood in it. If I went back...
"Forget that." Her voice snapped. "The blood will just make you thirstier. Remember that blood is salty. It'll just make your thirst worse. You must get under that rock."
He continued dragging himself forward, accompanied by the sound of feasting scavengers. His hand went under some shade. It could only have been at least three degrees colder, but it felt like pure heaven to his abused body.
"Good. Now drag the rest of your body under the rock." He strained, his body throbbing with the heat and pain, but he managed it. The shadow of the rock covered his face. He let out a slow sigh, feeling himself start to cool.
"Remember what happened here today, brother." His sister said. "Remember who did this to you, and who killed me. Remember that was the reason that got you here. Remember who betrayed you and left you to die. Remember all of that. I know you are in a lot of pain, but you must remember that."
He tried to nod, but he could no longer move his neck. He instead gasped, the dry air mingled with dust being drawn into his lungs.
"Rest here for a while, brother. You'll get picked up and sent to a hospital." He agreed. He needed to rest. Yes, tiredness must be the reason why he was stating to lose his sight and why his chest was feeling so heavy. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep.
&&&&&&
Time had passed, he didn't know how long. The shade had done some good, he was still alive, he could feel the dryness of the earth and his skin, he knew he was still alive. He heard footsteps across the earth. Not another illusion, he thought feebly. He half-opened one eyelid. There was someone in front of him.
"Jesus..." The figure whispered. It then turned back to the truck. "He's still alive! Quick, bring him some water!" There was more rushing feet. He heard a slopping, thudding sound as well. Someone gripped his chin, and forced it open.
"What's with his teeth?" Another voice said. "I don't know..." The first figure said. He felt something made of plastic bump against his lips, and then felt something fluid and cool slip down his throat. It was... it was... it was... what?
Water! He remembered! He needed it to live! He gasped, and shot forward, grabbing the bottle and drinking all of its contents. Someone yelled. He didn't care. He already felt the liquid entering his body. There was the sound of a cap being unscrewed, and someone threw more water on his face. It washed away his dry sweat and tears from his face, bathing him in coolness.
"What do we do?" "We get him to a hospital is what we do." "Is he going to be okay?" Another voice, someone younger by the sound of it. "I don't know. He drank an awful lot in one sitting. He might react violently to that." There was a sigh. "C'mon, let's get him on the truck, cover him with the tarpaulin. That'll keep him cool enough 'till we get him to a hospital."
There was the distant sensation of someone grabbing him round the arms. "Heavy bastard..." He heard someone groan. "Get his legs, okay?" Someone else snatched his ankles, and he felt himself being moved. He was dumped suddenly on a metal surface, causing his breath to be pushed out of him with a sudden cry.
"Watch it!" There was a rummaging sound; someone was grabbing the dog tags he had around his neck. He tried to wave them off, but his arms felt as heavy as lead. There was a dry, rustling sound, and he felt some type of material cover him, keeping the accursed sun off of him.
"What's that you got?" "Something off from his neck. Weird... they look like the real McCoy..." "What do you mean?" "These are military-type dog tags except... his rank isn't on them."
John looked at them, the sun glinting into his eyes. "Well, is his name on them?" He asked.
Paul shaded the dog tags from the sun, and peered at the lettering. "Yeah..." He looked back at the misshapen lump under the tarpaulin. "His name is..." He peered back at the dog tags, trying to pronounce the strange name. "Mac-ill-van-ee..." He blinked. "His name is McIllvanney..." He turned back to the tarpaulin, and shivered slightly in the evening sun.
R&R everyone.