I just don't even know about my brain sometimes.

Title: Metamorphosis
Fandom: Highlander
Rating/pairing: PG; Duncan/Methos/Amanda (established)
Word Count: 4300
Summary: Nobody knew about this aspect of being Immortal because nobody had ever gotten this old before. This was started for a prompt at fic_promptly -- Any fandom or characters, wingfic curtainfic -- and quickly got out of hand, assuming it was ever in hand to begin with.
Crossposted: to AO3




At first Duncan and Amanda thought Methos was simply ill. Immortals could get sick, after all, as Duncan had told Tessa all those years ago. They tended to have stronger immune systems than mortals, but they still fell victim to colds and flu and worse things. Duncan knew several Immortals who'd contracted lethal cases of the Black Plague, centuries after their first death -- they'd come back, of course, but it still wasn't much fun. He'd died of yellow fever himself once, an experience he didn't care to repeat.

And as illnesses went, this wasn't bad. Methos was feverish and grouchy, emerging from a cocoon of blankets only to eat -- ravenously -- and then vanishing again.

This went on for two weeks before ... the other thing.

It took Duncan and Amanda three hours to coax Methos out from under the blankets where he'd holed up with a bottle of 25-year-old Glenlivet and a case of microbrew. Once they finally got a look at him, Duncan only managed to stop himself from dissolving into helpless, rather hysterical laughter by focusing on Methos's expression: equal parts terror and embarrassment, more raw and open than anything Duncan had seen on his face before.

Amanda promptly vanished into the bathroom and came out five minutes later, perfectly composed. She sat down on the bed beside Methos and started combing her fingers through his hair.

"I'll call Joe," Duncan said. If anyone knew what was going on and how to fix it, the Watchers would.

After he explained the situation, there was a very long silence on the other end. Then Joe said, "No, really. Pull the other one."

"I'm not joking."

"Come on, Mac, you think I was born yesterday?"

Methos reached out one long arm, snatched the receiver from Duncan and snapped into it, "I have bloody wings, Joe. Get the hell over here, bring the Watcher database and something to drink, because there cannot possibly be enough alcohol in the world to deal with this. And I swear if this ends up in my Chronicle, heads will roll."


******


When Joe got there, Methos was sitting dejectedly on the bed, naked to the waist, with his new wings sprawled in a rumpled heap on the bed behind and around him.

For some reason Joe had pictured angel wings: fluffy and white and ludicrously unsuited to Methos. But the weird thing about these wings were how well they did suit him. They were ribbed and angular, rather batlike in their general shape, but where a bat's wings would have been naked and membranous, Methos's were covered with short, downy fur. Mostly it was the same dark brown as the hair on his head, but delicate moths'-wing patterns were traced in paler gray and green.

The wings were beautiful. And very alien. Joe tried not to stare, but it was hard, and Methos's glare let him know that his efforts to be unobtrusive were not working. Instead he handed over a peace offering: a glass full of whisky.

"Looking on the bright side," Methos said dolefully, "I've felt like crap for the last couple of weeks and now I feel a lot better. Pretty much a hundred percent again." He brightened a little. "Also, I'm drunk, though not nearly drunk enough yet. I swear my body's processing alcohol even faster than usual."

Joe sat on the edge of the bed with a laptop containing a secure uplink to the new, improved, now even more secure Watcher database. Amanda curled up with her arm around Methos's waist and her head on his shoulder. Duncan sat down on his other side and laced his fingers through Methos's. All three of them looked over Joe's shoulder at the screen while he paged through query after query.

Everything came up empty. Apparently no one had ever recorded a Chronicle of an Immortal erupting wings before.

"There's more to the Chronicles than what's in the database, though," Joe said. "We're digitizing as fast as we can, but it's a hell of a lot of information. I can fly out to the regional Watcher HQ in the morning and start going through the archives."

"And you might even find something," Amanda said, rubbing the bony point of Methos's shoulder. "But I have another suggestion. How old is the oldest Immortal in your Chronicles? Besides Methos, I mean."

Joe's brows drew together. "There are a few who reached unconfirmed ages of five and even six thousand, but the oldest confirmed Immortal is probably Gallus. He was four thousand, one hundred and sixty when his head was taken." His voice changed. "Oh, you're not suggesting ..."

There was a worried silence. The three Immortals looked at each other. "Ach, bloody hell," Duncan said, reverting to more of a brogue than Joe had ever heard from him.

"What are you whining about?" Amanda snapped. "You have eight hundred years more than I do 'til you have to deal with it!"

"Guys." Joe tried to stop the runaway panic train before it left the station. "We don't have any way to know if this is an Immortal thing, or, uh ..."

"Or what?" Methos demanded, unfurling his wings. They spread most of the way across Duncan's loft; the clawed tip of one wing brushed the brick wall. "A mass hallucination? A bizarre medical experiment? An incredibly lifelike special effect?"

Duncan made a choking sound. "So ... what are you saying, then? This is our fully mature form, or something? We're human beings, not insects!"

"It might not even be how we eventually end up, but just a step along the way." Amanda looked worried.

"You guys are creeping me out," Joe said.

"Trust me," Duncan said. "It's not possible to be more creeped out right now than we are."

"You?" Methos snapped. "You? You're not the one who's reenacting Gregor Samsa. Somebody get me another drink."


******


Joe continued to research the situation, but in the meantime, life went back to normal. More or less. Methos never left the loft, except to buy more alcohol, and spent all his time sprawled across the bed or couch, watching soccer, daytime talk shows and black-and-white romantic comedies. This wasn't particularly different from his usual behavior when in Seacouver, at least in Duncan's opinion, aside from the new quirk that he refused to have sex with the lights on. Amanda, as usual, disagreed.

"He's not dealing with this very well, MacLeod."

"There's a good way to deal with sudden onset wings?"

Amanda stabbed a red-painted fingernail at Methos, who was sprawled on the bed on his back, wings spread out to either side, staring thoughtfully at a crack in the ceiling. "Exhibit A for the prosecution."

"Persecution is more like it," Duncan muttered. "Look, if it was that bad, you and I both know how he'd deal with it."

"By disappearing for a while," Amanda said. "I know. But I think he's afraid to go out in public like this. He's scared, Duncan."

The worst of it was that he knew she was right, but he also knew from personal experience that Methos's black moods were best left alone. "Well, what do you expect me to do about it? You're the only one who can even talk to him when he's this way. The most I can do is take him down to the dojo and beat the crap out of him in a sparring session."

Amanda nodded vigorously.

"Oh, come on ..."

She kissed his nose. "Duncan, I think the problem with Methos right now is that he doesn't feel like himself. You need to make him feel Immortal again. Remind him that he's still who he was before, just with rather sexy wings."

Amanda and Duncan had agreed between the two of them that the wings were sexy as hell, but Methos, for reasons of his own or just through sheer perversity, refused to believe them.

Duncan tried glaring at her, and then pouting, but as many people had observed over time, it was impossible to say no to Amanda. "If he kills me, you're the one who gets to clean up the blood," Duncan said, and shooed her out the door. He got two beers and sauntered with what he hoped was a casual attitude over to the bed.

"I know why you're here," Methos said without moving. "I have wings, but I'm not deaf. If you want to have private conversations behind my back, buy a bigger place."

Duncan hesitated, then sat crosslegged on one side of the bed and handed over one of the beers. "Methos, we were all the way over at the door. There's no way you could have heard us."

Methos raised his head. "Really?" He flopped back down. "Aw, shit."

After a moment of awkward silence, Duncan lay down on the bed beside him, careful not to crush a wing. True, it would heal, but that wasn't the point. He laid a hand on Methos's stomach and traced gentle circles. "Are there by any chance other things that you haven't told us yet?"

"I'm not sure," Methos said. He sounded miserable and frustrated. "I definitely take longer to get drunk than I used to. Actually, I have a lot of trouble getting drunk at all. It's like the alcohol processes through my system before it can make it to my brain."

"Sounds like a nightmare," Duncan said dryly.

"You have no idea. Also, as well as the sharper hearing, I'm pretty sure I can see in the dark."

Duncan forcefully stifled any and all comments about bats, managing instead, "Really? That sounds useful."

"You're absolutely no help at all."


******


Typically, because life never could be simple, this was when a notorious husband-wife team of headhunters sauntered into Seacouver, Jason and Samantha Corey, known for winning duels through underhanded techniques. At least it distracted them all temporarily from Methos's transformation. Amanda was all for challenging them straight out, before they had a chance to try anything sneaky.

"Amanda, no. I know I can take Jason, but I'm not sure if --" Seeing her expression, Duncan backpedaled hastily to "-- if you and Samantha are well matched."

"What makes you think I'm going to be fighting Samantha?" Amanda shot back. "Why can't I challenge Jason?"

"Because he's half a foot taller than you, and his reach is a lot longer? Besides, Amanda, these two do anything they can to level the playing field. Even if we're more skilled, that's no guarantee that we can win."

Amanda sulked for a moment, but then it changed to a smirk. "If they're not going to play fair, then I say we call out our secret weapon. It's never been cheating to use one's natural talents, is it?"

The secret weapon was facedown in a pile of pillows on the bed. "The hell I will," he declared in a muffled voice.

Amanda straddled his back, gently displacing the wings, and hooked her hands over his shoulders. "I can make it worth your while."

"You'd do that anyway," Methos said into the pillow.

"Fine, then. No sex for anyone 'til you duel Samantha Corey for me."

Duncan spun around from the window. "Hey! Don't I get a say in this?"

Methos snorted into his pillows. "I can hold out longer than either of you. So no deal."

"Please? With sugar on top?"

"Go. Away."

"Please?" Amanda leaned forward and nibbled the back of his neck. "Pleasepleaseplease?"

Apparently there were indeed people capable of holding out against Amanda's wiles. Under the influence of wings and depression, anyway.


******


Duncan didn't particularly want to get sucked into a duel with the Coreys, and hoped that if he and Amanda kept a low profile, they'd simply get bored and go away. He tried to stay away from places that they'd be likely to look for him, like Joe's, and made a point of staying indoors a lot.

Still, it was impossible to remain indoors all the time, particularly for Amanda, who remained unconvinced that the Coreys posed an actual problem. Duncan was walking her back to the car from a trendy downtown Seacouver restaurant -- Amanda, beside him, was on her cell phone to Methos, who since he'd quit leaving the loft had developed an irritating habit of calling them a dozen times whenever they went out and asking them to pick up various things on their way back -- when he felt the familiar elusive spark across his senses. "Amanda," he said softly, touching her shoulder, but he could feel from the tension in her body that she'd felt it too.

"Call you later; looks like we've got company," Amanda told the phone. Duncan could hear Methos saying something in an annoyed tone as she hung up on him, tucking away the phone and reaching under her coat in the same smooth motion.

Touching the comforting weight of his sword, Duncan scanned the area. It was a gray, drizzly Seacouver evening, with darkness lapping at the buildings. He and Amanda had cut across a construction site on their way back to the street where they'd parked the car, which he realized now, with 20/20 hindsight, had placed them in a perfect spot for an ambush. All these weeks of relative quiet had made him careless, his survival instincts losing their edge. The work site had been shut down for the evening, and machinery hulked around them, along with the scaffolding of the first few floors of the new building. There were a thousand places to hide in the gathering gloom.

"See anyone?" Amanda murmured, her sword en garde.

"Not yet." Duncan tugged at Amanda's arm and both of them withdrew to the shelter of a prefab trailer unit that probably served as the construction zone's office. "They aren't too close, whoever they -- Amanda, look out!"

He jumped and swung his sword at the metal canister that had come spinning out of the gloom, flung from afar. His blade sent it flying over the top of the trailer. Another one followed close behind, popping when it hit the ground to release a smoky cloud.

"Cheating bastards!" Amanda said, her sleeve over her mouth.

"Hold your breath!" Easier said than done, though, with adrenaline kicking up both their heart rates. An Immortal body couldn't stay conscious any longer without oxygen than a mortal one. Duncan and Amanda retreated behind a nearby work truck, smoke swirling around their feet. Duncan had caught a half-breath of the stuff before he'd managed to stop himself; it smelled cloyingly sweet and made his head spin.

Amanda staggered into him. "Sorry," she whispered, and dropped her sword. He caught her under the arms, barely managing to retain his grip on his own sword.

Luckily the wind was moving the gas, whatever it was, out of their vicinity, but Duncan was dizzy enough that he didn't trust himself in a fight, and Amanda could barely stand. He heaved her into the cab of the truck, threw her sword in after her and popped down the lock before slamming the door on her feeble protest of "Duncan, you bas--" Even if they got past him, that ought to slow them down long enough for Amanda's system to clear itself.

Two Immortals appeared from opposite ends of the truck, a man and a woman, both armed with broadswords. "The Coreys, I presume," Duncan said, planting his back against the side of the truck and blinking in a fruitless attempt to clear his double vision. The rain was falling harder now, throwing random movement into the periphery of his vision to further screw up his concentration.

He half expected them to completely throw the rules of combat out the window and rush him together, but the woman, Samantha, hung back with a mocking smile as her husband moved in. They'd obviously rehearsed this, and Duncan gritted his teeth, parrying Jason Corey's opening blow. If they attacked together, they risked getting in each other's way, but this way, if one of them fell, the other could take the victor effortlessly while he was still reeling from the Quickening. And if Amanda didn't recover in time, Duncan couldn't think of a way to keep them from doing exactly that.

Jason turned out to be a decent fighter, but he was also a big man, heavily muscled, with a sword that must be three feet long if it was an inch -- which might be intimidating to younger Immortals, but all of that slowed him down, shaved vital fractions of a second off his recovery time from each swing. Duncan let Jason take the offensive at first, while he got his breath back and his head stopped spinning. If I was Methos, he thought, I'd feign being more affected by the gas than I am -- but he couldn't quite bring himself to do that. He didn't need to, though, as he managed to duck under one of Jason's blows and bring up his own sword in turn, disarming his opponent and bringing his sword back for the killing blow on the return swing. Out of the corner of his eye, he registered that the spot where Samantha Corey had been standing was now empty, and just had time to think Dammit, that's not good -- before something tangled around his sword arm, fouling his blow. Duncan went to one knee on the wet gravel, while Jason retreated and recovered his sword. "Something" turned out to be Samantha Corey's white silk scarf, though she was standing a few yards away by the time he located her, looking innocent.

Cheating bastards, he thought grimly, echoing Amanda's comment. And where was Amanda, anyway? She ought to be back in the fight by now -- Ah, he thought, hearing the soft crunch of gravel as small feet hit the ground on the other side of the truck. Here she comes.

Duncan and Jason squared off in the open space between the truck and office. Duncan tried to keep an eye on both Jason and Samantha at once, but it was hard to spare attention for her when Jason was the one currently trying to take his head. Samantha was no less dangerous, though. He wouldn't put it past her to shoot him in the back the minute he took his eyes off her --

"You look like a lady who's waiting for a challenge," Amanda's voice said sweetly, and Duncan caught a blurred glimpse of steel from the corner of his eye as the women's swords clashed. Now he could turn his full attention to his own fight, and for the first time Jason Corey began to look scared. As well he might, Duncan thought grimly, pursuing him around the truck. They'd picked this fight, after all.

He forced Jason Corey to his knees, caught a quick flash of movement in Jason's off hand, and smacked it hard with the flat of his sword. A small automatic pistol went skittering across the gravel. "Not smart," Duncan said between his teeth, and beheaded him.

Regret hit him right before Jason Corey's Quickening: he really had been trying to avoid challenges lately. It was hard to convince himself that the world wasn't better off without the Coreys in it, though.

And that was when Samantha Corey shot him in the back.


******


When the first lightning bolts of the Quickening arced between the steel I-beams of the building's skeleton, Amanda and Samantha both froze with their blades crossed. Amanda skipped back a few quick steps, not sure how her opponent would react. Samantha wasn't close enough to hurt Duncan, and Amanda was sure she could head her off if Samantha tried to move in that direction.

Samantha screamed in outrage, switched her sword to her left hand and drew a revolver from under her coat. She snapped off three quick shots in Duncan's direction before Amanda forced her back with a wild barrage of attacks. Amanda felt Duncan's Immortal buzz vanish from her awareness, though the Quickening still sparked off every rain-slick metal surface in the construction yard. It wasn't necessary to be alive to receive a Quickening, just a bit uncomfortable to wake up afterwards.

Except he wasn't going to wake up if Amanda couldn't take Samantha. Amanda pressed the attack, but Samantha backed up fast, dancing out of reach, and shot at her.

Amanda tried to dodge, but she felt the bullet punch through her stomach. Another, higher, pierced her lung. She gasped, falling to her knees, losing her grip on her sword. I need to speak to Methos about a better backup plan in case this happens again, she thought, dazed with shock and blood loss.

Samantha's lip curled back from her teeth. She tossed the revolver aside and raised the sword in the rain.

The awareness of another Immortal's presence hit Amanda's senses as suddenly as another bullet. Duncan, she thought, but it was Methos who dropped out of the sky and the rain and the dark, landing between them and folding his wings around him like the coat he wasn't wearing.

"You're interfering! She's mine!" Samantha Corey snarled, and then she got a good look at what, exactly, was interfering, and her jaw dropped. "Holy -- What the hell are you?"

"To you? Death from above," Methos said coldly, drawing his sword. He winced and added in an undertone, "Though I really need to think of a better opening line."

Samantha backed away hastily. "You can't interfere! The duel has already begun!"

"Really? Judging by the bullet holes in both your opponents, I'd say you cheated first. But, if you insist." Methos lowered his sword and waved his free hand at Duncan's prone body, at Amanda. "Go ahead, take your pick. I'll be right here to take your Quickening as soon as you're helpless."

Samantha looked from Duncan to Amanda, then at Methos, indecision written all over her face.

"Or you could duel me instead," Methos added.

Amanda never heard Samantha's reply; her vision telescoped to darkness as blood loss claimed her.


******


Amanda woke with a gasp, lying on her back on something soft. She blinked and squinted against the low glow of lamplight, then sat up. She was completely disoriented for a minute before taking in the corkboards on the walls, the desk covered with papers, the cheap fabric and sagging springs of the couch under her -- she must be inside the prefab office trailer on the construction site. The door stood open with the glass broken out of it, letting in the sound and smell of rain.

After a moment it let in Methos as well, dragging Duncan, who was already starting to stir. "Fine, I'm fine," Duncan mumbled, waving off Methos, and sat up. "The Coreys?"

"Both dead." Methos shut the door and went to sit on edge of the desk. "I didn't see any sign of Watchers out there, so presumably the Coreys gave them the slip in the rain. There's all night for the cleanup, anyway." He shrugged.

Duncan plucked at his wet, blood-soaked shirt. "You got here in a hurry," he observed, eyeing Methos's naked chest and bare, mud-splattered feet. "Suspiciously fast."

"So the damn things are a little bit useful," Methos said testily, wringing out the end of one sodden wing.

Amanda joined him on the edge of the desk. They were dripping all over the papers, but she didn't care -- Methos looked half frozen, and she slipped an arm around him. "But how did you know the wings would actually work? I mean, that you'd be able to fly with them?"

"I didn't."

Amanda stared at him. "You're kidding! So you, what? Just jumped off the roof and hoped?"

"Basically, yes. What? It's not like it could kill me. At least not permanently." He smirked. "Good thing, too, since you two are obviously incapable of taking care of yourselves without me." The fact that his teeth were chattering took some of the bite out of his sarcasm.

Duncan stripped out of his wool coat and draped it over Methos, wings and all -- it was wet, but still warm from what body heat he'd managed to retain while dead. He stroked a fingertip down the bony ridge of the nearest wing, and Methos shivered in a way that had nothing to do with cold. "Forty-five hundred years 'til I get a set of these, huh?" Duncan grinned. "Looking forward to it."

"Maybe by then I'll have learned not to get tangled up with them when I fight," Methos muttered. "This is going to require inventing a whole new fencing school, because none of the old techniques work worth a damn anymore."

"Obviously you managed to take out Samantha Corey anyway," Duncan said, sitting down on Methos's other side and shivering slightly in his shirt sleeves.

"Mostly because she had no idea what was happening to her. I think she thought she was hallucinating." Methos flashed a quick, feral grin. "It's a perfect distraction, I must admit."

"Told you," Amanda said smugly.

"Joe is going to hate that he missed seeing that," Duncan said with a smile.

"Joe is one thing," Methos said sharply, "but the Watchers are not finding out about this. If we can tailor coats to hide swords, then we can tailor them to hide wings as well."

"Agreed," Amanda said. She held out a hand. After a moment, Methos put his hand on top of hers, and Amanda turned her hand around to clasp his. Duncan put his own hand over both of theirs, holding tight.

"We're in this together," Duncan said.

Methos said nothing, but after a moment he unfurled his wings from under the coat, just far enough to curl a warm, damp wing around each of them.

~