Title: hurricane hatched from a sigh

Fandom: Highlander/Supernatural

Disclaimer: not my characters

Warnings: spoilers for up to season 5 SN; AU for both; spoilers for season 6 of HL

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 595

Point of view: third

Prompt: Does "Adam Mateo" have some poor Watcher recording his life? Was Joe there or did he read the report? Could Duncan or Amanda have seen the meeting between Methos and the angel?

Duncan hasn't seen Methos is over a decade. He figures Methos is being a student again and when he asks Joe out of curiosity, Joe realizes that Adam Pierson's Watcher hasn't been able to find him in well over seven years.

So Duncan goes looking. He hunts and tracks the world's oldest man and finally finds him in late fall, in a small town in the middle of Nowhere, USA, and he knows that if he'd been anyone else Methos would've stayed missing.

Methos is keeping interesting company: two mortal men and one something else, something neither mortal nor immortal. Methos' accent is as American as the two men when he says, "Hello, Duncan," hands in his pockets. One man stays seated, the other leaning against the wall; the something else tilts his head.

"This is the one your father spoke of," he says. "The one who fought a demon."

"Yes," Methos says. "Duncan, these are Sam and Dean Winchester, and their pet, Castiel." The seated man nods, the leaning one raises a brow, and Castiel doesn't react at all.

Duncan blurts out, "You don't have a father," and then hopes he didn't just ruin whatever thing Methos has going.

Methos laughs. "Oh, Duncan, most things have a father." He glances at the something else. "Isn't that right, little angel?"

Castiel doesn't reply. He keeps looking at Duncan, who stares back, mouth dry. "Ang-angel?" he whispers. "Truly?"

Castiel regally inclines his head. Duncan drops into the free chair and continues staring.

The brother leaning against the wall says, "He as good as you?" to Methos.

"Not remotely," Methos answers. "But he's the next-best."

Castiel asks Duncan, "Will you join our cause?" His face is so earnest—Duncan can feel his light, almost like a quickening. An angel. It is such a wonder, like finally something has gone right in Duncan's life. Maybe helping an angel will wipe away the stench of Ahriman.

Duncan looks back to Methos as he pulls his hands from his pockets; the white ring on his finger flashes in sunlight from the window.

"What is that?" he asks.

Methos flexes his fingers, smiles down at the ring. "It was my father's," he says quietly. The brothers carefully don't move and the angel stills. "I wore it three millennia ago, when I rode a pale horse and used his name." He lifts his gaze to Duncan's and Duncan holds his breath because his friend isn't in those eyes. Neither is the man who wept for his brothers in Bordeaux, or the monster Cassandra recalled with horror. "I wear it now," something Duncan can't name says, "because I am my father's hand and I wield his scythe."

Duncan exhales as those eyes look away. The brothers let out matching sighs of relief and there is a relieved lessening of tension in the angel's shoulders.

"What are you?" Duncan asks, because this is not his friend.

"Call me Methos," Death says. "I was the first. I shall be the last."

Castiel steps forward, drawing all attention. There is the shadow of wings behind him. "We wage a war with too few soldiers, against an army most could not imagine. If we fail, the world will be destroyed." He's even more earnest.

Duncan nods, still trying to calm his heart. Methos has removed all masks. He smiles at Duncan, at the brothers, at the angel, and he no longer pretends to be anything but what he is: Death.

It is terrifying. It is exhilarating. The white ring on his finger flashes.

"How can I help?" Duncan asks.