Title: Danse Macabre

Summary: Winchesters meet Methos, things happen.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander nor Supernatural

I stared down the barrel of the shotgun that was currently being leveled at me.

"Could you put that away?" I asked as though I hadn't a care in the world. But it was quite the contrary, for I had no desire for my end to be at the hands of some trigger happy mortal.

I guess you could say that getting my head blown off by a shotgun was hardly on my list of 'things to do'.

I'm sure my Quickening would exact my revenge and electrocute the hell out of the man, considering that there would be no Immortal around to receive it. It wouldn't matter much to me though, because of the whole being dead part of that scenario. And I'd hate to see my Quickening go to waste, if he had to die at all.

It would be a terribly inauspicious end to the world's old living Immortal. Although... it would have had some sort of cosmic irony to it if I'd lived for well over 5,000 years, only to die at the hands of some ungrateful ass I'd only been trying to help.

"Shut your mouth, demon!" The grizzled man growled at me.

Of course it figures the moment I help a complete stranger out of the kindness of my 'heart' this would happen. This was all Macleod's fault. Helping people always kicked me in the ass.

"I helped you. That's hardly a good reason to kill me."

He kept his gun trained at my head without moving a muscle. I turned behind me to see the man's 67 Impala's tires staring back at me. Maybe I could try a different angle of approach.

"And if you shot me you'd dent your fine automobile with that buck shot. And you'd have to clean off all that brain-matter and vitriol." I made a disgusted face, "It would be a shame to sully the poor girl like that, don't you think?"

He spared a glance at the Impala with pensive look. I used that moment's distraction to move my head out of the way of his shotgun and kicked his legs out from under him. The man cursed up a storm as I attempted to break his hold of the gun. His struggle ceased suddenly and he reached into his back pocket. I thought maybe he'd been reaching for a knife, so I was wholly prepared to block the eventual attempt at stabbing. But instead my hands were met with a glass bottle that shattered and cut into my skin. Liquid splashed over my face and I sputtered as some of it went right up my nose. Lovely.

There's was a tense second and the man was staring at me in shock. Tentatively, I swiped my tongue along my lips to test the substance. It was water. I looked at the shards that were now digging into both my skin and the man's.

He'd called me a demon. I'd stumbled across him getting the crap kicked out of him by what I'm pretty sure was an aswang. The pieces fell together.

Before when I'd seen the winged woman attacking him I'd wondered why a Filipino demon that enjoyed eating fetuses and small children had taken an interest in this man in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa. But now it was rather obvious. He was a hunter.

I'd managed to chop the demon's head off with my Ivanhoe, but not before the aswang had disemboweled me. Not fun. It hadn't been a quick death for me. The man had been kind, likely thinking I was another hunter and had tried to make me comfortable. He'd likely seen enough wounds to know mine was fatal.

Then I'd died. And I got better.

I grinned up at him, which probably wasn't the best choice, but occasionally my desire to be a smart-ass overrode my sense of self-preservation, "Thank you for that. How'd you know I was thirsty?"

He glared and me suspiciously and grabbed for a pistol that must have been shoved down the back of his pants and aimed it my head. I calmed, a little. A single bullet in the head was preferable to getting the whole thing blown off by a shotgun. Although, the hunter might have the foresight to chop my head off before I recovered, so I still wasn't out of the woods yet.

He knelt down closer to me to look me square in the eyes. He had an intense gaze, but I'd encountered far more intimidating men in my time. I was one of them.

"Christo." He said the words, clearly expecting it to elicit some sort of response.

All he got from me was an amused brow, "Contra felicem vix deus vires habet." I made sure I used the bastardized pronunciation of Latin used in the present, and not how Latin was actually spoken when it was used as a common dialect. I didn't want to confuse the poor guy and have him kill me for speaking in tongues.

So, he thought I was a demon who would flinch at the name of God.

I'd always wondered why saying that had any affect on supernatural beings. I think it had more to do with the thought or belief behind the words, rather than the words themselves. The power was only what the person gave them. The demons had been here longer than any religion that was around now.

And I should know. I'd seen the rise and fall of many a belief system. I knew better than anyone that religions were ephemeral and those that did last any stretch of time changed so entirely from what they were when they began that they could hardly even be called the same religion.

I'm not sure what I thought now about the whole 'God(s)' dilemma. When I was young I'd believed in the spirits of the earth, winds, waters, etc., just as everyone else had... now, frankly I was indifferent to the entire notion of belief. I believed very little and nothing I believed wasn't so strongly felt that it wasn't open for change or alteration. So, perhaps I aught to have called them my 'passing fancies' because 'belief' held more weight than I would give my thoughts on the matter.

I was willing to change. I had to be willing to change, otherwise I would never have made it this long. A lot of Immortals didn't understand that. In order to survive in this world they needed to change right along with it. It was a lesson Kronos sure hadn't learned. Thousands of years and he'd still been clinging to the Horsemen like a baby to a security blanket.

I'd toyed with the idea of religion once in the 8th century. I'd been a monk. Yes, a monk. Darius eat your heat out. It hadn't lasted long. I think it had been a momentary lapse in my sanity. But it had meant no one could take my head while I stayed in the monastery with the other robe-wearers.

I suppose I'd always felt that there was something out there; something more powerful than us that could have been called God or Gods, because how else could you explain the demons, or the Immortals?

But I wasn't about to discount the idea that nothing existed beyond this life or that absolutely no one was looking out for me 'up there'. Which was part and parcel to why I took care of myself and did everything within my powers to remain alive at any cost. Because I'd certainly seen enough to know that if there were a higher power, it was an indifferent one. And if there were a God that was the judging type... I don't think he'd just say 'live and let live' to my slaughtering of ten thousand some people just because at the time I had been young and impetuous.

If there was something that was or resembled Hell, I was pretty sure I'd be going to it.

And unfortunately for the hunter standing before me, should this situation warrant it, I would kill him in a second if it meant I would live. I wasn't a martyr. Like I told Byron, I didn't plan on ever having a tombstone.

"What did you say?" The man scowled at me. I was surprised that he couldn't understand what I'd said. I'd always been of the impression that hunters knew Latin quite well.

"He said 'Contra felicem vix deus vires habet'." A younger voice spoke. My eyes focused on two figures that were approaching the car. Two teenagers, it had been the younger of the two that had spoken. The other was too busy aiming his shotgun at me with a scowl on his face to match the one on the man in front of me.

I didn't have to take a wild stab in the dark to guess that these two were the man's sons.

"It means, 'Against a lucky man a god scarcely has power.' It's a common Latin phrase. I remember it from the Latin books I've been reading in my spare time."

A modern teenager that liked to read Latin in his free time? And here I'd thought I'd seen everything. Maybe he just wasn't very well-adjusted. His father was a hunter after all.

The man nodded to his younger son and turned to glare at me, "Quit trying to be cute and tell me what the Hell you are."

"So then you'll know how to kill me properly? I think not." I sighed, "Can't you just look at this rationally? That aswang was about to gut you like a pig. But here you are, alive and well. Free to fight another day. I'd say that it's only decent of you to let me go. I'm not a demon."

"He saved your life?" The younger boy asks while the older one is still scowling, "Then why are you trying to kill him?"

I was really starting to like this kid. Had more sense than his father.

"He was dead, and then we just woke up like nothing happened." He looked me over contemplatively, "I'm thinking sorcerer."

Maybe I could tell them a reason that would get him to relent on trying to kill me?

"Sorcerer? No, I-I uh..." I looked nervous and abashed, "I made a deal." My mind went a mile a minute trying to come up with an answer, "Crossroads demon. I can't be killed or age."

They probably wouldn't kill me for being an idiot. Right?

"Can't be killed?" He frowned, "The whole point of those deals is that when you die, you go to Hell. Why would they negate their own side of the deal within their own contract?"

Shit, I hadn't thought of that. No matter.

"I have until the end of the world. Demons are nothing, if not patient. And immortality is just as much a curse, as it is a blessing." I shrugged. That last bit is only semi-true. I loved being alive, it was just the everyone else dieing.

He lower his gun slightly, "Making a deal with a demon? That was a mighty stupid thing for you to do, son."


I chuckled, "I know, and I've had a long time to come to terms with that fact."

I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally lowered his gun all the way. He didn't appear to trust me much, but that was fine with me because the feeling was mutual.

"How old are you?" He asked, catching my meaning.

"Old enough."

And that was all I said, and I left it at that. I'm happy that he didn't push for anymore information than that. After that, he just seemed to look at me with pity. We both got to our feet. I dusted off my sweater and trench coat.

He held out his hand, "John Winchester." he gestured his head back toward the teens behind us, "These are my boys. Youngest is Sam, the oldest is Dean."

I take his hand and nod to the children, "Adam."

Maybe I could get out of this and back to Alexa at the hotel before she even woke up. I wanted to get out of Iowa and back on the road before sunrise and get far away from this man before he changed his mind about killing me.