Title: Death, Watchers and Mutations

Author: Kate R.

Disclaimer: X-men belong to Marvel, Immortals belong to Davis Panzer, Wesley and anyone else Buffy or Angel belongs to Joss Whedon, Jenny and the Joining are Mac's, and the idea is mine.

Rating: PG-13 to R

Pairings: None yet.

Please send feedback to me at: abelard950@aol.comabelard950@aol.com

Summary: What happens if a dead soldier gets up speaking Sumerian? What if the children ran to a bookstore in town for help when their school was taken?


Death, Watchers and Mutations
by Kate R.


Groggy and in pain. He woke up with those two feeling predominantly in his physical senses. In his mental senses however, there was another, all encompassing feeling: that of pure, distilled, concentrated, undiluted, 300 proof Rage. If he were an alcoholic drink, one sip of him would kill the person.

That's how potent and strong his rage was.

He knew. Even if he didn't know how, he knew what he had been made to do and he knew why. Now...well, now he was angry. Now the ones who had done this were going to meet his alternate personality. His base personality that always came out when he was hurt this badly. He was growling in the Ancient of Ancient Languages as he removed the jacket he had been wearing. It was stained and tainted and he did not mean with his blood.

He got to his feet aware of everyone staring at him and he could see the fear in everyone's eyes as they waited to see which side he was on. He turned to the soldiers then and he smiled. He smiled a smile so cold he saw the soldiers shiver and then he moved, pulling his knife from his belt, he went after them, he killed them all in less time then it took to tell. Those soldiers who had not died by their own grenades, he killed. He chopped hands off and removed one man's head with the force of the swing from the knife and the strength in his arms. He was Death. And these people were going to learn what that meant.

"STOP!" He heard a voice call. He turned to face the bald man and he cocked his head to the side, not quite understanding what he wanted beyond him not to mutilate any more people.

"Please," the professor said. "Please. You've made your point. Who are you?"

"I am Death," he said in Sumerian. He knew they did not understand. Well, most of them did not. The woman with white hair gasped as she stared at him. He could tell it had taken her a few minutes to translate what he said which told him she knew a language that was close to his of old. "I am Death, the Fourth horseman of the Apocalypse," he told her in Sumerian, going slowly so she could piece it out. "But, you may call me Methos."

She stared at him and slowly nodded, as she understood what he was saying. Then, she turned to her companions and spoke to them in the language he understood and knew somewhere in his jumbled mind he could speak if he could just get it clear in his own head, and told them something to the effect that he was not going to kill them all. Lucky for them, she was right. All he wanted was to get out of this place; get his sword back and get back to his One. His Jenny.

"The professor wants to know if you have an English name, Methos," she said to him. Something told her he understood their language just fine, it was speaking it he was having issues with.

"A-dam," he finally managed to say. It had taken so long to get the word out he knew they had been afraid he would not tell them. He sighed finally and lifted one of the children and turned to lead them out. He could feel something coming, something painful and sharp, and something that would surely kill theses mortals. He felt it was imperative that they live. It was an important thing that he get these people out of here. They had to live. That knowledge pounded and bounced through his head and he did not understand why but that he had to save them as he had once, long ago, saved Hephaestus, God of the Forge and Fire, when he found him lying at the base of a mountain.

"Follow," he grated out, trying for the sake of understanding and expedience, to speak the language they spoke that he knew. "Take you out."

They followed him and he carried two of the smaller children.

He, like most immortals, got stronger as he got older. He carried the children in his arms up and out to where the helicopter should have been according to the man he knew to be Wolverine. They feared they were going to die when there jet suddenly appeared and he turned, about to board when he saw Logan move and he followed him to where Stryker was chained to a wall of the dam.

"Hello, William," he said as he was able to wrap his tongue more and more around the words of the language he was realizing was called English.

"David," Stryker said using his old name, the name these people had given him. He laughed then.

"Sorry, William, my name is Methos. Or, as so many of your soldiers found out, Death."

"No, Stryker whispered as he stared at Methos, who raised his head and allowed the man to see the coldness of his eyes.

"Yes, William," Methos said. "I am become Death, the Destroyer of Life."

Those creatures will never take this world!" Stryker yelled.

Methos turned to look at him then and smiled, allowing his age to appear in his eyes.

"I've seen this cycle several times in 5000 years, William," he said. "Nothing can stop evolution."

"I don't believe this is evolution," Stryker began to rant as the little boy in Logan's arms stuck his tongue out at him. They were walking and Stryker said something and he was getting louder and louder and more annoying so Methos spun around and threw the knife that had been at his side. It lodged in Stryker's throat reducing his rant to a gurgle that faded as he died.

"Finally, someone shut him up," Logan said as they got aboard the plane. Methos shrugged. He knew more, was remembering more and it just made him angrier with those who had used him. They had a problem lifting off until Jean sacrificed herself. He did not know her well but he felt her loss as keenly as the others who did know her. He sat and held the tow children as they cried against his shoulders.

He knew what it felt like to lose those who were yours. Even if you were, as he was, immortal, you did not get over losing people. Death hurt, especially if it was someone who was close to you.

"Grieve," he told the children and Cyclops. "Grief is the only way to heal from loss. Grieve or become bitter."

Darius had told him that and it was true. If they did not grieve they would become bitter.

He went with them to Washington DC and he stared at the president.

"I am older than the dirt in this nation," he said quietly. "I have seen evolutions like this before. To try to eradicate them is to eradicate your own future. Think on that, and remember those words."

And he went with the X-Men. He did not know why but until he could contact the others, he needed a place to heal and rest and he had a feeling these people would give it to him. He was so tired after all. He wanted to rest. Just for a little while, to rest.

And then, when the time was right, he would return to his life and the battles that had to be waged there.


Part 1

He loathed daylight. Especially when it stabbed him in the eyes. He groaned and rolled over as the sun hit him and finally managed to get up. His first thoughts were "Ow, that hurts." His second thoughts were "Where the hell am I?" And his third thought was "Oh, Shit!" As he remembered what he had done and where he was.

He felt like a semi had hit him and he knew it was the aftermath of the drug. Oh, he was in pain. He was in so much pain but he knew it would eventually get better. Even now he was healing as his immortal gifts kicked in to mend what had been broken in his mind as it had his body after the grenade that killed him had exploded.

"Sod all," he muttered as he got dressed in the sweat pants and t-shirt that were lying on the chair next to the bed. He found socks there, and underwear and tennis shoes as well so he got dressed and wandered around. As he walked, his head began to clear and he realized he had actually done a good thing killing those people. They had murdered people, were going to murder children. How could not revenge those who had been hurt, himself included.

"Hi!" a cheerful voice called. He spun around and found himself facing a girl with brown hair.

"I'm Kitty," she said. "The professor said if you're hungry I could show you the dinning room. He' there now and I think he wants to talk to you about how you got up after being dead and things."

"That I can do," he muttered as he followed her. He was hungry after all. And he knew he would have to answer the questions anyhow. Especially those pertaining to whom he was and how he'd "Lived" through a grenade exploding against his chest. One of these days he was going to have to learn to come back from the dead quieter. One of these days. For now, he was looking for answers as to where he was exactly.

"Good morning, Mr. Adam," the bald man in the wheelchair said as the girl led him into a dining room. He waved as he saw some of the others from before he went to sleep.

"Pierson," he said as he sat in an empty chair. "My name is Adam Pierson."

"Mr. Pierson then," the man he finally remembered was Professor Xavier said.

"No, you can just call me Adam," he told them. Just, if you all were going to use "Mr." I'd prefer if you used my last name so I know you are talking to me. It would be Dr. Adams."

"Adam then," the professor said. "I imagine you have questions?"

"The same I bet as you do. Young girl there asked me how I managed to get up after being dead. Answer is? I'm immortal. I think by your expression you've met one of my kind before?"

"Yes, the man with the mutli-colored reading. He registers as Mutant, something Dark Blue and then something silver."

"I would imagine that's Darius then? Likely as he is the only one I know besides Jennifer who would have more than two colors. If you would like I can help you sort the many kinds of human life on this planet. You are too specific, there are many degrees of power and many wavelengths that can make someone not human in that sense of the word."

"And you know them?" the professor asked.

"I can figure them out. I have been present for several things in evolution. I am that old. Older, actually. Old and old and old."

"And you've lived this long and stayed sane...how?" Wolverine asked.

"Periodically," Methos said to them, "I forget. I lose several millennia of memories until I need them. In times of great injury, like the base, I wake up in my base-line persona of Death on a Pale Horse. He is the strongest of the personalities I've used in these past 5000 years. Sumerian is his base language. He is the one who fights free of things like that drug. He is the one who can look at people and tell friend from foe in less than an instant. He is the reason I did not kill you all."

"You speak of Him and You why? If you are that person and he is you..."

"He is a part of me, but not all of me, children. He comes when I need him and he goes back to sleep when I do not. Now, if you would like, I can help you locate other branches of non-human humans and maybe, you could help me contact my family. My head is still all static-y and it hurts to try to send to them."

"Send?" the professor asked. "You mean you are a telepath?"

"Only in the sense of others of my kind. The true Telepaths in the Clan are Darius and his children. Darius is powerful. Some of his gifts were given by the Gods others he has developed over the years. Darius is old and strong. If you meet him, you'll never forget him."

"The Gods?" A girl asked. She looked Asian/American. "Gods," Methos said. "Specifically, 1 God, Ares, God of War. Darius was his greatest general."

"Ah, if you say so," she said. "Oh, professor, Peter wanted me to tell you the guy whose store they ran to when the school was hit the other night is coming up today. I figure since you wanted to meet him, I should warn you he'll be here."

"Thank you, Jubilee," the professor said. "I've been wondering who would open their doors at 1:00 am for a group of mutant school children."

"Mr. Pryce was pretty cool about it. Even did something so they couldn't find us. I mean the guy had guts."

"Pryce?" Methos asked. "Wesley Wyndham-Pryce?"

"Yeah," Jubilee said. "He opened a book store in town. Do you know him?"

"I think I do. If it's the Wesley I'm thinking of. He used to live in Sunnydale, he's from England though."

"Yeah, that's him. Cool guy. Lets us look around his store all the time. Never gets mad if someone's power goes wonky. Juts says to be careful of what it hits because he doesn't want to have fix an accidental toading if the power triggers a spell on one of his books."

"Yes," Methos said. "That's Wesley. He's another one you likely marked as a human but he isn't."

"He...isn't?" the professor asked. Methos shook his head and sighed.

"Show me this machine of yours, professor," he said. "So I can show you How to find things beyond Mutant and Human."

The professor nodded and after they ate breakfast, he led Methos down to a room where there was a machine set up. He sighed as the professor powered it up and it flared to life. To the professor there were only mutants, humans, a presence Methos recognized as Darius, one he felt was Jenny, and a few silver marks. Methos sighed and placed his hands on the professor's shoulders and allowed his mind to open. All that Methos was, was held in check by Adam knowing there was a job to do here. As he sorted the people by who and what they were and marked things with different colors, he also touched Darius and Jenny to let them know where he was and that he was alive. The professor, through Methos, felt the absolute Joy from the being Methos named Jenny and the sensation that she was already on her way, as was Darius. Darius was the multi colored one, and then, the professor nearly felt his brain fry as a thing that had only happened once before while he was scanning happened again: A bright, burning lights flared no the screen.

'Ignore it,' the professor said. 'It is a glitch.'

"It's not a glitch," Methos said. "It's a God. That was Ares. The dark blue you see on Darius is close to Ares' God Color. You see him as bright white because you go by power. Silver is immortal, Gold is vampire, green is mage, red is mutant, now grey is normal human as Deity is now White."

"I had no idea there were so many," the professor said once they finished. Methos chuckled.

"As well I know. You know now. Be careful what you do with the knowledge. Wesley is here."

The professor blinked as a green light, highlighted by Silver appeared outside the school. Methos chuckled.

"That's Wesley, one of Darius' children. Lets go up and greet him."

The professor nodded and watched as Methos walked with calmness out of the room. All he could think as he watched that man was "Who are you?"

He had gotten the impression of very great age and experiences he neither knew nor understood and it frightened and awed him that one so Old was there, in his school. "Who are you, Methos," he said to himself. "Who are you."

End Part 1