Descension
Part 2
Methos silently chuckled as he tried to picture the look on Joe's face when he told him about last night.
"The damn old goat will probably think I'm losing it...eh...what the bloody hell? He already thinks I'm losing it..."
Despite the attempt to forget it altogether, there was something else in the back of Methos' head that was rather disturbing to him.
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, sick...How? How was it possible? Immortals didn't get sick. Pre-Immortals yes, he found that out when he was 19 and developed an awful rash that took over his entire body for two weeks.
"Oh how I miss those days, my ass was killing me for days but it was funny as shit when the rest of the village got it," he thought to himself.
The memory of 80 people breaking out in spots and itching like crazy, diving into the cold water at dawn, some even rubbing their backs against trees to stop it, made his silent chuckle audible.
However, his somewhat peaceful reminiscence turned into a sudden jolt of shock as he saw out of nowhere a semi had gotten in front of him.
"Oh for...what's this joker doing?" Methos asked himself.
It was then that the elder realized he was only inches away from crashing into the back of the truck. Jerking the wheel, Methos swerved out of the way of the truck only to find he had horrible control of it on the other side of the road. He attempted to get it back over to the other side, but it was too late, the jeep had partially turned off the road, unbalanced in between the concrete street and the dirt road beside it, the jeep flipped over with him in it, and spun several times as it rolled downhill and into a ditch.
Methos woke up and found himself hanging upside-down. He was still in his seat of the jeep, which from the inside already looked totaled. The windshield was smashed as were the windows, with small bits of glass still in place, the door had been ripped off the passenger seat, and part of the roof of the jeep had been torn, giving Methos a good view of the dirt below him.
Wherever he was, Methos became aware that it had the charm of a desert, the dirt was practically powder, his guess was the area hadn't gotten any rain in the last few months. However, briefly running his hand across the dirt, it seemed pounded down, rock hard and impossible to move. Making matters worse, there were huge, sharp hunks of rock mixed in with the dirt. Methos had been hanging upside-down for so long apparently, he was getting lightheaded, he couldn't think straight and he was practically seeing everything red. That didn't help him when he tried to get a look at how badly he'd been torn up during the fall. From his position, he couldn't see anything wrong with his body, he knew it was a bad view of himself, he hadn't died, he was just knocked unconscious in the fall.
Methos released his seatbelt and fell out of his seat, hitting his head on the car roof and the rocks and dirt outside of it.
"Ouch!"
Mildly screaming from the pain, Methos covered his head with his hands, curled up like a bug and rolled over. He kicked open the door on his side and crawled out. Getting out onto the dirt and standing up, he realized it was practically impossible not to even temporarily died, the jeep had caught fire shortly after the fall, but most flames wore out from what he could tell. The back end was banged up horribly in the parts that hadn't burned. Some of the dents were so serious, it resulted in the centers busting inside of the car, leaving large holes in their places.
Methos then remembered to check himself, pulling back his trench coat and lifting up his shirt, he saw he had cuts, scrapes, burns, and bruises that still hadn't healed yet, and that was just on his chest and stomach. It wasn't until he started walking away from the scene that the pain kicked in high on his legs. Unfortunately he knew that didn't cover all of him that got banged up, and he also knew this would take some time to heal.
Time? How long had he been out? Methos turned his watch around to on top of his wrist, 1:20 P.M.
What time had he left the Dojo? Going on 8:30, and how long had he been on the road before the accident? Near 10 minutes.
As Methos took this into consideration, despite the pain, he started up out of the ditch, and he soon realized if he could make his way out of the ditch and still be alive by the time he got up there, it'd be a freakin' miracle. As he slowly made his way up, his temple started pounding again.
"God, again?" Methos asked as he placed his 3rd and 4th fingers on the temple, "why now? Why not while the blood was in my head?"
Then he remembered the last time he felt the pain, right before he left. Methos had seen a few genuine psychics in his day, but he never thought he'd have something like this happen to him.
"That does it," Methos sarcastically grunted, "the next time my head tries to tell me something, I'm listening..."
Duncan laid in bed, more miserable now than he was 200 years ago when he was in France, put in stocks and had peasants throwing things at him. All due to a feud between him and some ritzy pain in the ass visiting Paris, because of that, he had 2 expired tomatoes and a moldy gob of spinach thrown in his ear while he had more diseased things thrown at the rest of him.
He didn't know where this headache of his came from, but he sure was getting freaking tired of it. A few hours after Methos left, so did the headache, but just half an hour ago, it returned, worse than ever. And it didn't get much better when the phone rang. Duncan shot up in bed moaning, wishing whoever was calling would just hang the fuck up. But, he got out of bed and over to the phone, and despite his thumping head, he picked up the receiver and yelled into it, "WHAT?!" But not before regretting it as it made his head pound even more.
"MacLeod..."
Duncan soon became alarmed after hearing the tone of Methos' voice. He wasn't his regular irritating self, he almost sounded scared.
"Methos, what the hell's going on?" Duncan asked.
"Wish I knew, maybe I wouldn't have been in a ditch two inches away from being on fire," Methos replied, a little cynic back in his tone.
"What?" Duncan asked, "What happened? Joe called asking if you were going to even come in today...What happened?"
"Can I assume from your voice that your headache is gone?" Methos asked.
"No."
"Well that's good, because you bloody gave it to me," Methos responded to him.
"What?" Duncan asked.
"I don't think I have it quite as badly as you do, I'm not staggering around like zombie and all, but trust me, it's pretty bloody horrible," Methos took the receiver in his other hand as he rubbed his temple with the fingers of his right hand.
"Start back to the beginning, what happened?"
"I came in and soon found you looking like cra---"
"Skip ahead to after you left," Duncan said, quickly becoming exasperated.
"Well, I was heading over to Joe's when some idiot came off of one road and right in front of me, so I got off that side of the road so I wouldn't hit the bastard, and I end up running off the road, and plunging into a ditch, only to wake up near 4 hours later, hanging upside down while my jeep's on fire. And if you don't believe me, haul your lifeless ass over here, I'll show you the proof I'm wearing."
"What? You mean you weren't killed in the accident?"
"No, apparently I was only fucking knocked unconscious for the past four hours bleeding like a stab victim, while what little blood's left in me goes straight to my head!" Methos explained.
Duncan let out a slight snort before saying, "Yeah well, at least you've still got your head."
"True, too true, except now, it feels like someone's put it in a fucking vice and has tightened it as far as it'll go, but that's not enough, now they're pressing it even harder so they can see my eyes bug out and watch me squirm!"
"Tell me about it," Duncan groaned, "I've had it a little longer than you..."
"Is the brat still there?"
"Richie? No, he left a few hours ago, he said something about waiting for you back at your place...where are you anyway?" Duncan asked.
"My apartment," Methos replied.
Duncan's eyes opened wider than normal, "Either more of you got damaged than you know, or Richie got lost on the way over."
"Or..." Methos got a little cocky, "Either he got tired of waiting for me and already left, or I'm in the telephone booth outside of the building."
"I'll take the latter...he wouldn't say why he was going over, he just picked up and left," Duncan explained.
"Well if the kid is here, I'll let you know, oh...and MacLeod?"
"What?"
"I'm going to get you for giving me this fucking headache!" With that, Duncan heard a click and hung up also.
As Methos approached his apartment, he realized he failed to sense an Immortal nearby, meaning either Richie left, or didn't bother to show up in the first place.
He unlocked the door and headed into his apartment, everything seemed where it was, he checked the kitchen, the fridge was still stocked, apparently Richie hadn't been by. Right now, he imagined he felt as horrible as Duncan did, so he headed into his bedroom and fell on the bed, and saw next to his face, a note. Grabbing the note, Methos sat up, and unfolded it, it read: Old Timer, Came by to discuss something with you but obviously couldn't wait 3 hours for you to show up. Signed: Richie.
"Damn that kid," Methos thought as he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket, "Always around when you don't want him, and when you're expecting him, he doesn't show up."
That sparked an idea in Methos' head, he went over to the phone and dialed the number of the Dojo again, he was sure Duncan would be pissed off with him calling repeatedly, knowing he had a pounding headache.
"Eh, screw him," Methos thought, "I don't have to live with him, so it doesn't matter to me."
Methos heard it ring a couple of times, then he heard the receiver picked up, "What?"
"MacLeod, have you told Joe about my incident on the road?"
"No, why?"
"That's good, don't tell him anything...I'm going over there once I recover, and see if I can surprise the old goat...the last thing I need is him going down my damn back about being reckless already while sober."
"That reminds me, is Richie there?"
"No, he was, but he's not now," Methos said, "I'll see that brat when I'm through at Joe's."
Methos hung up and dropped down on the bed again. Near an hour later, his body had healed, so he put on his trench coat and headed out to the bar. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Joe anything about what happened. What happened with him on the road was between him, Duncan, and the piece of crap that was now roasting in the ditch.
What's the reason behind these mysterious headaches plaguing the Immortals? Why did Methos really crash in the ditch? Why was Richie at Methos' apartment? The only way to answer these questions and more will be to read on.
Author's Note:
1. I lack the ability to create a good filler, so my little sister (better known as Sophia Hawkins at fanfiction.net) wrote it for me. Sometimes it pays to have a sibling around, even if they are annoying.
Part 2
Methos silently chuckled as he tried to picture the look on Joe's face when he told him about last night.
"The damn old goat will probably think I'm losing it...eh...what the bloody hell? He already thinks I'm losing it..."
Despite the attempt to forget it altogether, there was something else in the back of Methos' head that was rather disturbing to him.
Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, sick...How? How was it possible? Immortals didn't get sick. Pre-Immortals yes, he found that out when he was 19 and developed an awful rash that took over his entire body for two weeks.
"Oh how I miss those days, my ass was killing me for days but it was funny as shit when the rest of the village got it," he thought to himself.
The memory of 80 people breaking out in spots and itching like crazy, diving into the cold water at dawn, some even rubbing their backs against trees to stop it, made his silent chuckle audible.
However, his somewhat peaceful reminiscence turned into a sudden jolt of shock as he saw out of nowhere a semi had gotten in front of him.
"Oh for...what's this joker doing?" Methos asked himself.
It was then that the elder realized he was only inches away from crashing into the back of the truck. Jerking the wheel, Methos swerved out of the way of the truck only to find he had horrible control of it on the other side of the road. He attempted to get it back over to the other side, but it was too late, the jeep had partially turned off the road, unbalanced in between the concrete street and the dirt road beside it, the jeep flipped over with him in it, and spun several times as it rolled downhill and into a ditch.
Methos woke up and found himself hanging upside-down. He was still in his seat of the jeep, which from the inside already looked totaled. The windshield was smashed as were the windows, with small bits of glass still in place, the door had been ripped off the passenger seat, and part of the roof of the jeep had been torn, giving Methos a good view of the dirt below him.
Wherever he was, Methos became aware that it had the charm of a desert, the dirt was practically powder, his guess was the area hadn't gotten any rain in the last few months. However, briefly running his hand across the dirt, it seemed pounded down, rock hard and impossible to move. Making matters worse, there were huge, sharp hunks of rock mixed in with the dirt. Methos had been hanging upside-down for so long apparently, he was getting lightheaded, he couldn't think straight and he was practically seeing everything red. That didn't help him when he tried to get a look at how badly he'd been torn up during the fall. From his position, he couldn't see anything wrong with his body, he knew it was a bad view of himself, he hadn't died, he was just knocked unconscious in the fall.
Methos released his seatbelt and fell out of his seat, hitting his head on the car roof and the rocks and dirt outside of it.
"Ouch!"
Mildly screaming from the pain, Methos covered his head with his hands, curled up like a bug and rolled over. He kicked open the door on his side and crawled out. Getting out onto the dirt and standing up, he realized it was practically impossible not to even temporarily died, the jeep had caught fire shortly after the fall, but most flames wore out from what he could tell. The back end was banged up horribly in the parts that hadn't burned. Some of the dents were so serious, it resulted in the centers busting inside of the car, leaving large holes in their places.
Methos then remembered to check himself, pulling back his trench coat and lifting up his shirt, he saw he had cuts, scrapes, burns, and bruises that still hadn't healed yet, and that was just on his chest and stomach. It wasn't until he started walking away from the scene that the pain kicked in high on his legs. Unfortunately he knew that didn't cover all of him that got banged up, and he also knew this would take some time to heal.
Time? How long had he been out? Methos turned his watch around to on top of his wrist, 1:20 P.M.
What time had he left the Dojo? Going on 8:30, and how long had he been on the road before the accident? Near 10 minutes.
As Methos took this into consideration, despite the pain, he started up out of the ditch, and he soon realized if he could make his way out of the ditch and still be alive by the time he got up there, it'd be a freakin' miracle. As he slowly made his way up, his temple started pounding again.
"God, again?" Methos asked as he placed his 3rd and 4th fingers on the temple, "why now? Why not while the blood was in my head?"
Then he remembered the last time he felt the pain, right before he left. Methos had seen a few genuine psychics in his day, but he never thought he'd have something like this happen to him.
"That does it," Methos sarcastically grunted, "the next time my head tries to tell me something, I'm listening..."
Duncan laid in bed, more miserable now than he was 200 years ago when he was in France, put in stocks and had peasants throwing things at him. All due to a feud between him and some ritzy pain in the ass visiting Paris, because of that, he had 2 expired tomatoes and a moldy gob of spinach thrown in his ear while he had more diseased things thrown at the rest of him.
He didn't know where this headache of his came from, but he sure was getting freaking tired of it. A few hours after Methos left, so did the headache, but just half an hour ago, it returned, worse than ever. And it didn't get much better when the phone rang. Duncan shot up in bed moaning, wishing whoever was calling would just hang the fuck up. But, he got out of bed and over to the phone, and despite his thumping head, he picked up the receiver and yelled into it, "WHAT?!" But not before regretting it as it made his head pound even more.
"MacLeod..."
Duncan soon became alarmed after hearing the tone of Methos' voice. He wasn't his regular irritating self, he almost sounded scared.
"Methos, what the hell's going on?" Duncan asked.
"Wish I knew, maybe I wouldn't have been in a ditch two inches away from being on fire," Methos replied, a little cynic back in his tone.
"What?" Duncan asked, "What happened? Joe called asking if you were going to even come in today...What happened?"
"Can I assume from your voice that your headache is gone?" Methos asked.
"No."
"Well that's good, because you bloody gave it to me," Methos responded to him.
"What?" Duncan asked.
"I don't think I have it quite as badly as you do, I'm not staggering around like zombie and all, but trust me, it's pretty bloody horrible," Methos took the receiver in his other hand as he rubbed his temple with the fingers of his right hand.
"Start back to the beginning, what happened?"
"I came in and soon found you looking like cra---"
"Skip ahead to after you left," Duncan said, quickly becoming exasperated.
"Well, I was heading over to Joe's when some idiot came off of one road and right in front of me, so I got off that side of the road so I wouldn't hit the bastard, and I end up running off the road, and plunging into a ditch, only to wake up near 4 hours later, hanging upside down while my jeep's on fire. And if you don't believe me, haul your lifeless ass over here, I'll show you the proof I'm wearing."
"What? You mean you weren't killed in the accident?"
"No, apparently I was only fucking knocked unconscious for the past four hours bleeding like a stab victim, while what little blood's left in me goes straight to my head!" Methos explained.
Duncan let out a slight snort before saying, "Yeah well, at least you've still got your head."
"True, too true, except now, it feels like someone's put it in a fucking vice and has tightened it as far as it'll go, but that's not enough, now they're pressing it even harder so they can see my eyes bug out and watch me squirm!"
"Tell me about it," Duncan groaned, "I've had it a little longer than you..."
"Is the brat still there?"
"Richie? No, he left a few hours ago, he said something about waiting for you back at your place...where are you anyway?" Duncan asked.
"My apartment," Methos replied.
Duncan's eyes opened wider than normal, "Either more of you got damaged than you know, or Richie got lost on the way over."
"Or..." Methos got a little cocky, "Either he got tired of waiting for me and already left, or I'm in the telephone booth outside of the building."
"I'll take the latter...he wouldn't say why he was going over, he just picked up and left," Duncan explained.
"Well if the kid is here, I'll let you know, oh...and MacLeod?"
"What?"
"I'm going to get you for giving me this fucking headache!" With that, Duncan heard a click and hung up also.
As Methos approached his apartment, he realized he failed to sense an Immortal nearby, meaning either Richie left, or didn't bother to show up in the first place.
He unlocked the door and headed into his apartment, everything seemed where it was, he checked the kitchen, the fridge was still stocked, apparently Richie hadn't been by. Right now, he imagined he felt as horrible as Duncan did, so he headed into his bedroom and fell on the bed, and saw next to his face, a note. Grabbing the note, Methos sat up, and unfolded it, it read: Old Timer, Came by to discuss something with you but obviously couldn't wait 3 hours for you to show up. Signed: Richie.
"Damn that kid," Methos thought as he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wastebasket, "Always around when you don't want him, and when you're expecting him, he doesn't show up."
That sparked an idea in Methos' head, he went over to the phone and dialed the number of the Dojo again, he was sure Duncan would be pissed off with him calling repeatedly, knowing he had a pounding headache.
"Eh, screw him," Methos thought, "I don't have to live with him, so it doesn't matter to me."
Methos heard it ring a couple of times, then he heard the receiver picked up, "What?"
"MacLeod, have you told Joe about my incident on the road?"
"No, why?"
"That's good, don't tell him anything...I'm going over there once I recover, and see if I can surprise the old goat...the last thing I need is him going down my damn back about being reckless already while sober."
"That reminds me, is Richie there?"
"No, he was, but he's not now," Methos said, "I'll see that brat when I'm through at Joe's."
Methos hung up and dropped down on the bed again. Near an hour later, his body had healed, so he put on his trench coat and headed out to the bar. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Joe anything about what happened. What happened with him on the road was between him, Duncan, and the piece of crap that was now roasting in the ditch.
What's the reason behind these mysterious headaches plaguing the Immortals? Why did Methos really crash in the ditch? Why was Richie at Methos' apartment? The only way to answer these questions and more will be to read on.
Author's Note:
1. I lack the ability to create a good filler, so my little sister (better known as Sophia Hawkins at fanfiction.net) wrote it for me. Sometimes it pays to have a sibling around, even if they are annoying.