crossing_lostrp | [Sam, Dean, Locke] Out, Out, Damn Vortex!

((OOC: Reposting due to slightly more sensible reasoning. And I figured that it's at least been a minute or two, and these web-swingers can string people up in less than a minute, so... ))

Okay, now Sam, Dean and Locke were running out into the open, and nobody was shooting at them. Things were looking up.

Not for the Wraith, however. It was currently hanging upside down from a branch, suspended by a combination of vines and webbing tied securely around its ankles and its wrists - the latter she'd done hastily and as tightly as she could, in case it made another grab for her. She'd augmented the vines with some of her webbing, trying to leave a tiny bit in her last canister just in case. If the sucker woke up, it might be able to free itself, but it probably wouldn't be able to do so before she knocked it out again.

May surveyed her work one last time before jumping down to the forest floor, eying the unconscious Wraith warily. "Now what am I going to do with you?" As long as it was still alive, there was a chance it could wake up and go after someone else. But a scratch and a shredded shirt wasn't enough to kill over in her book; she'd spared worse from death. Of course, it wasn't like there was a jail to throw this guy in. But she wasn't entirely sure she could kill it even if she had the stomach to do so. Rodney mentioned that bullets only slowed one of these things down, right?

Leaving it unattended was an even worse idea, since there was no guarantee it wouldn't wake up, get free, get pissed and go looking for a snack. (Great. I get to babysit the space vampire.)

Not that she was entirely bitter about that; it was better than being shot at, scratched, eaten or being thrown around like a rag doll. And if she had to guard the bastard all night, if that kept everybody else safe, she would. Still, she had to let somebody know what she'd caught. "Hey, can someone give me a hand here?" she shouted, hoping the cavalry could hear her.

Possibly hearing her shout, the Wraith stirred. May jumped and blasted it with the rifle, and it promptly went limp again. "Scary thing is," she muttered to no one in particular, "I've babysat worse."

Once Dean and Sam were safely (relatively speaking) in the jungle, Locke cautiously made his way over to May and her trussed-up prisoner. "Nice work," he said, curiously studying the rifle/staff in her hand as well as the captured Wraith.

"Thanks." She gave him a brief grin as her eyes continually scanned their surroundings. "Ugly, isn't he?"

Locke nodded absently. The creature -- alien -- was, indeed, far from handsome. That was the least of their worries. From what Daniel had said, the Wraith were vicious, unrepentant killers. He'd seen their speed and strength first hand. The prisoner might break his bonds upon awakening.

"Can I see that?" Locke asked, gesturing at the staff/rifle.

May shrugged. "Sure. I'm no good with guns, anyway."

After leaning his rifle against the tree, but well out of the Wraith's reach, he took the alien weapon from May. It was surprisingly light and well-balanced. Being careful to point the business end way from May, Locke took a few moments to locate the trigger mechanism. It seemed simple enough.

Locke took a step back, aimed the Wraith rifle point-blank at the creature's neck, and fired. Light flashed, the Wraith shrieked, and the smell of charred flesh filled the air. "What the hell are you doing?!" May exclaimed.

"What needs to be done," Locke replied calmly. The alien twitched and stuggled in its bonds. Locke shot its neck twice more. The thing stopped moving once its head fell to the mossy ground with a thump.

He looked up at May, who stared, horrified. "It wasn't one of the good ones."

((OOC: Sorry, took me a while to come up with an adequate response. And I tried to get Locke right.))

"Not one of the good ones?" May echoed. "That's the justification for blowing its head off?"

Locke frowned. "I'm not sure if McKay told you this, but these things feed off human life-force. I don't think they were intending to let prisoners live." He glanced at her side, where the shredded shirt and bloodstains made the scratch look worse than it was. She shifted her weight, turning that side away from him.

"I got the Cliffs Notes explanation," May snapped. "I was hoping we could have gotten some info out of it first. Maybe how many more of its buddies were coming through? We don't know if they came here by accident or if we can close the - portal, rift, whatever that thing is." She looked at the headless body, sickened. "We're probably not going to know now."

"There isn't time for interrogation." Seeing the look on her face, Locke's expression softened a bit. "Don't feel sorry for it. Save your compassion--"

"If you're going to say compassion's a weakness, please don't finish that sentence," she said quietly.

He looked genuinely surprised. "I was going to say you should save it for those who need it."

"I'm sorry. Someone once told me that, and he was NOT one of the 'good ones.'" She shook her head, snapping her thoughts back to the present and turning away from the Wraith. "Let's go see if the guys need backup."

He paused for a moment, looking at Jack and the bit of new technology being given him. McKay didn't have time to ask too many questions, certainly, and he was pretty sure he could figure it out when the time came. After all, how hard could it be?

McKay was well into the woods now, and unless he was off, headed directly for the offcourse wormhole. Tripping on branches, there were more than a couple times that he smacked right into bushes, losing his momentum if not his feet. After all, it was late at night, and as far as light went, it wasn't a particularly bright evening. Add to that the canopy, and the smaller-than-an-ancient-oak-tree vegegation wasn't going to be seen clearly. At least, not by the scientist.

"Ow!"

In case there was any question whether John, Dean and Sam could follow, if not find them, it was easily dispelled.

"Ow! My arm!" The exclamations were breathless. He hadn't run like this for some time. Of course, he was easily pushed on by the thought that more wraith could be pouring out of the wormhole.

"You know how I call you a geek sometimes?" Dean huffed between breaths as he and Sam ran through the jungle to catch up with McKay.

Sam shot a disparaging look at his brother, then jumped a fallen tree. "Sometimes?"

"Yeah, *sometimes*," Dean said. He and Sam clambered over the gnarled roots of a tree. They were about twenty feet behind the self-proclaimed genius, who'd tripped over roots again. "I wasn't giving you enough credit. You're a *coordinated* geek."

"Gee, thanks Dean. You're the best brother *ever*." Sam's words dripped with sarcasm. Dean simply smirked.

The brothers stopped on either side of McKay and hauled him to his feet. The vortex was far too close for comfort for all of them. Dean gestured at the portal. "You know how to close this thing, Mr. Wizard, or does Sammy have to get with the spellcasting?"

"Keep an eye on Kenzaki," Daniel told Blaise, not that he thought he needed to do so. "Someone will recover him." Daniel didn't elaborate, but he figured that Faith would be back soon enough. He didn't think that the young woman would do as she was told and stay inside; she seemed to like action too much.

When he received a nod of acknowledgement from Blaise, he set off at a jog in the direction that Locke, Sam and Dean had gone.

Rodney was helped, er, pulled to his feet by the brothers as a will-o-the-wisp shadow in the form of Raelle returned briefly to check on her now... grown group? Oh, great.

He brushed himself off, grumbling, rolled his shoulder as a hand rested on it, and looking at the woman who just disappeared into the woods once more, started once more. First, a trot, then a lope, and as they got into the area, a run.

McKay stopped short, his eyes rising to the swirling vortex, his expression hanging in scientific wonder. He'd never seen a wormhole that /wasn't/ attached to a stargate, and the event horizon was /nothing/ that he'd expected. It was still the size as a stargate portal, that is, about 24 feet across, around, but rather than the shimmering blue, it was a darker, more ominous looking exit. He didn't have to worry about getting sucked in, certainly. Basic physics, that, but he couldn't help but stare. That would take me closer to home... And onto a planet that is probably crawling with Wraith. Now, why no more were coming through was a mystery. Was it closed on the other side?

Focus, Rodney... Right. Rodney shook his head and brought up the bit that he'd been handed by Jack. He squinted at the bracer-sized wristband and lifted his finger to start, essentially, poking at it. Before any buttons could be pressed, the vortex began to shut, slowly, but noticably.

It took about a minute, silent to the end, hardly remarkable in comparison to the way it opened to the island. In the darkness Rodney's features fell to a frowning scowl. Disappointed, perhaps, relieved certainly. He exhaled audibly in the night, his shoulders slumping before he realized that one of them ached from one of his many stumbles. Wincing, he brought a hand up to massage it once more. "That's going to bruise."

He looked at the brothers that accompanied him and stared for a long minute as he only then realized what they'd said. "Spell casting? Y-y-you can--" Affect wormholes that run millions of miles in length? "It couldn't hold. The amount of energy it required was growing exponentially, and it must have been closed at the other side. The... origin didn't have the power to keep it open." A deliberately created wormhole, yes, and there was nothing in the astrophysicist's tone that would suggest that it was anything remarkable, at least in his experience.

ooc: sorry I haven't been around.
Dean watched McKay poke at the vortex. "Yeah, spellcasting. You know, Roses are Red. Violets are blue. Begone Boogieman, before I hex you!" Dean continued to watch, "So, brilliant scientist and all you can do is poke at it?"

As the wormhole started to close, Dean snarked "Gonna see if any more fuglies are lurking."

"Doesn't anyone actually listen to me?" Rodney sounded more than a little irritated. "Why do I bother?" He shook his head, turned around to face the brothers, and took a deep breath to explain once more what he'd just finished saying. "The amount of energy that it takes---"

But, he discovered that there was no longer an audience, such as it was, behind him. Sam and Dean had rushed off, leaving him and Raelle alone. In the woods. With who knew what else was around?

"Um..."

Dark woods. Dark, dark woods.

Rodney's shoulders sagged, and a tentative look around was given before he had to ask, his voice lowered. A step was taken to the side, nearer a tree for cover, though cover from what, and what sort of cover it could afford was certainly questionnable. "Can you feel anything?"

After reassuring Locke that she was fine and that her shirt was worse off than anything, May followed him through the trees, keeping her eyes and her senses wide open for any more Wraith.

"Doesn't anyone actually listen to me?"

Fortunately, an irritated Rodney was not hard to find even in the darkness of the woods if you had sharp ears. It wasn't long before May spotted Rodney, who suddenly shut up and stepped closer to a tree. Locke signaled for her to stop, and she remained in her perch, scanning the trees for anything that might want to jump them.

((OOC: May's not too badly injured, the cuts are probably closing up a bit, but the shirt and the blood makes it look worse than it is. I'll let Locke handle approaching the paranoid, armed duo.))

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Also waiting on Raelle. Figure a couple of posts and we're back to the facility. I just really hate powerposing others in my poses. It's a MUSH thing. :)

No worries. I only now JUST got back home since we returned from the Ren Faire way too late for me to drive back to B-more... and then we found out the other car in our group that left later broke down and needed a tow, so yeah, it's not like I was around to post anyway. :)

(Everyone's home and okay now. Thank GOODNESS the PA Turnpike has their own towing service.)

Thank GOODNESS the PA Turnpike has their own towing service.

Eek! Did you have to call a tow truck?

No, the other car in our caravan (they left later) had their car break down on the Turnpike. We found out about that around 1 am last night, and they had to spend the night in Harrisburg before the AAA tow truck could get them back to Frederick and we could pick them up at the repair shop. They're home and I think they planned to spend today passed out. Good thing we decided to go on Saturday and not today; that would have been a real problem.

Fortunately May accepted Locke's rationale for executing the Wraith. In some ways he envied her idealism. In his fifty-odd years he'd learned that life wasn't fair and death was cheap. It truly was survival of the fittest on the island.

McKay rather obviously had little survival skills to speak of. Locke and May easily followed his irate voice to his and his friend's location. Deliberately making noise as he approached, he called, "Dr. McKay, we need to regroup. This way."

Rodney had no idea about the various wraith executions, though he'd sort of hoped they had been taken care of. As much as he wanted to be a part of it, and lord knew that he'd run headlong outside, unarmed (as Jon had so elequently put it), there was that whole 'self-preservation' thing. And, with the wormhole still active, he was needed elsewhere.

Now, that time had ended, and it was time to go back 'home'. Which ever direction that was.

Rodney was behind a tree, and a touch on his shoulder came, along with a soft and recognizable voice. "If you are ready, Doctor, it is this way." He jumped at the nearness, and turning around, saw the Athosian huntress, and beyond, Locke.

'Dr. McKay, we need to regroup. This way.' Rodney focused on the man, and nodded to the two of them. "Right. That way."

Jon made his way back to the control room for another look at the cameras, calling for Quentin to follow. There were a lot of people outside, better grouped now thankfully, but still unarmed for the most part.. though it didn't sound like anything short of a staff weapon or whatever it was those Wraith were carrying was going to stop one. Like most people would hand him something like that!

A quick glance and a wave to Scott and Ami - looking cozy enough, though now really wasn't the time for warm fuzzies - and he was back in the hallway, jogging past Quentin to the main door. Lots of people, but no idea of how many Wraith were l-

Jon's train of thought was interrupted by thuds from the storage room. Motioning for Quentin to wait, he pushed the door open gently - weapon ready if need be (he was sure he'd heard something about Wraith and beaming) - then all the way when he saw who it was and what he had strapped to his back.

What have I got, what do I need?

"Pierson! You know how to use that thing?"

The doctor frowned comically, still holding the item he'd just pulled off a shelf. "A towel? In what way? It's the most massively useful thing -"

"The sword!" Jon growled in frustration. "Do you know how to using the goddamn sword or do you carry it around for the hell of it? We've got intergalactic space vampires on the loose and bullets don't do squat."

"Goodness," Pierson smirked, though there was a flicker of.. something.. in his eyes. "Heaven forbid that shooting someone should fail to solve the problem."

We don't have time for this. "Ok, so you're a doctor. Hang around too long and it won't be worth healing the sick, but if you won't help do the rest of us a favor and let someone else try. Maybe that pirate of yours."

That got a reaction.

"This isn't a toy, child. A papercut might take your arm off, which would be fairly painful. Messy too, and I'm not that desperate for work." The doctor groaned and stuffed the towel through a belt loop, though he didn't draw the blade. "Lead on then, up the bloody garden path."

Jon squinted at the man incredulously. Was he mad? "Do you have to take that?"

"The sword? I thought that's what you wanted - oh, the towel. Well, it might come in handy as a distress signal. Come on, I'm not getting any younger here."

"That'll be the least of your worries if you get caught by a Wraith," the teenager muttered, heading back outside.

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They are indeed :)

Methos followed the boy and Quentin into the world outside with some trepidation. He wasn't keen on waiting around for "intergalactic space vampires" to break into the bunker, but seeking the bloody things out with no clear way to kill them was a plan worthy of Macleod, though the Scot didn't tend to work with such long odds.

"How many more are there anyway?" he asked Quentin quietly, wondering (again) when either of these two had learned to move through a forest so quietly. It wasn't exactly a modern skill.

"None, I hope," the man replied, flashing a nervous smile. "They're ugly bastards."

"Quiet," Jon snapped, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

Methos rolled his eyes, but obliged, as well as drawing his blade. Every so often they heard others searching the area, however nothing that suggested another enemy on the loose. No more screeching overhead either, whatever that had been.

Suddenly Quentin stood a little straighter, his head canting to one side. "I think I hear somethi-"

*buzz-whump*

"Ya think?" Jon yelped as they ducked behind various trees to avoid another blast of.. flying Quickening? No, but it didn't look like anything he wanted to encounter.

Running in the opposite direction was a far better option, if one that was irritatingly unavailable right now. This island was far too small and perilous for Methos' tastes, however there was no way offshore and he had thrown his lot in with these people.

He poked his head around the tree trunk, looking for the alien who'd make Kronos blink twice. The creature was stalking towards Jon's hiding place, sniffing, but more likely drawn by the boy's muffled use of a radio.

"Do something!" Quentin hissed nearby.

Methos scowled, replying in kind. "Like what? Shake a pointy piece of metal and hope the nasty deathray doesn't hit me?"

Meanwhile Jon seemed to understand his danger and broke cover, running for a tree with branches low enough that he might climb.. but the Wraith was taller, not to mention able to re-aim that weapon rather easily. Bollocks.

Breaking the habit of a lifetime (a ridiculously frequent occurrence these days), Methos yelled loudly and ran behind the Wraith, intending to stab it wherever that clothing/armour seemed least protective on his way past; it was an alien, he wasn't going to take this stuff on face value. If at first you don't succeed, distract the bastard and come up with another plan. The stunner's discharge caught him in the gut though, and the Immortal fell backwards, his legs folding up like matchsticks as his sword raced the rest of him to the ground. He wasn't dying - that feeling was far too familiar to mistake - but nothing seemed to work, even his eyesight was fading in and out off focus.

A sudden pain in his chest made Methos gasp. It felt like a Quickening in reverse, if there could be such a thing, and dimly Methos heard Jon firing his gun. At the Wraith? Probably. What the hell was it looking for in his chest anyway? Vampires went for necks - although he wasn't going to complain, under the circumstances. The creature had lifted him up halfway and was in his face now, even uglier as it growled something about not being able to feed properly.

"I'm well past my sell-by date," Methos muttered quietly, faintly amused that he was unpalatable to something so disgusting itself. "You can take it up with the manager."

It dropped him like a stone, moving on to pastures new - oh dear - but Methos wasn't coordinated enough to do anything any more. Maybe when he woke up, although he didn't remember going to sleep. I need a beer.

OOC: others are free to join if you want.. slice'n'dice tomorrow sometime.

Quentin was utterly shocked. The Wraith had Pierson dead to rights, and yet he'd dropped the man and moved on, muttering about being unable to feed. /Curious, why can't it feed on him?/ he wondered.

Now was not the time to ponder the doctor's mysteries, as the alien was on the prowl once again. It had not spotted Quentin yet, so he had the advantage. The Wraith was busy aiming its weapon at the moving target Jon presented as he climbed the tree, allowing Quentin to sneak up behind it.

SNAP!

Quentin winced as he stepped on a twig, and the snapping sound of the wood brought the Wraith's face and hands around to face him. Suddenly Quentin felt a stabbing pain as the alien's hand attached itself to his chest.

The Wraith tossed its head back and drank in the power, smiling widely as Quentin's life force surged thru it. Quentin's scream was loud and echoing, the pain filling his entire body. It felt like something was being sucked *through* him, his entire body being used as a conduit for some force or energy.

Reaching its fill, the Wraith returned its attention back to his meal - and was suddenly confused. "You have not aged! You look as if I've not fed on you - and I've fed deeply!" the creature hissed at Quentin.

Quentin was too weak to respond other than to scream yet again.

A worried look crossed the Wraith's face. "You are not human! You have poisoned me!" The worry became true fear when the Wraith discovered that it was unable to disengage his feeding hand from Quentin's chest. As the life force continued to flow, the creature's screams began to join Quentin's.

Jon looked on as the Wraith sprouted brown hair all over its body, looking very much like a werewolf. Then the alien's body began to enlarge, growing larger and larger until with a sloppy wet POP sound, the creature exploded, showering the area (and Quentin) with green blood and bluish-green chunks of flesh.

Released at last, Quentin looked down at the Wraith hand, still attached to his chest - and promptly collapsed.

Eeeeew... ::smirk:: good one.

Damn, can't make any real replies until after work.

Definately 'ewwwww' material...

Oh, man! What a way to die. I almost feel bad for the Wraith. Almost, but not quite. *snicker*

Dean and Sam moved through the jungle, weapons ready, towards the shouting as quickly and quietly as they could.

"You are not human! You have poisoned me!" a hissing voice exclaimed.

After exchanging perplexed glances, the brothers charged forward through a stand of bamboo. They emerged on the other side to find a bloated, hairy... thing with its hand buried in Quentin's chest. Several feet away Adam was sprawled on the jungle floor.

Sam and Dean quickly took aim, but the creature exploded before they could pull the trigger. Warm aquamarine splattered across them. Despite the gore, they didn't react to it for a few long moments. When no other Wraith or X-men wannabes came running, they saftied their weapons and shook the glop off.

"Jesus Christ," Sam muttered. He flicked a wide, flat green mass off of his arm to the ground.

"Amen to that, bro." Dean shook his head, sending some of his share of the blue-green mess on to Sam.

"Dean!"

"What? I gotta see to shoot these bastards. And what the hell was that thing? A weresmurf?"

"How the--" Sam cut himself off upon realizing that neither Quentin nor Adam were moving. Worse, the weresmurf's hairy, corpulent hand was still attached to Quentin's chest. "Shit!" He sprinted over to Quentin. Dean moved to Adam's side.

Sam checked Quentin's vitals through the gore. "He's alive."

"Same here," Dean reported about Adam.

Sam started tugging at the truly disgusting severed hand protuding from Quentin's chest. He prayed that the man would heal as quickly from this wound as he had from yesterday's gunshots. The hand came loose with a sucking sound. Sam tossed it aside, grimacing.

OOC: Will continue in a sec. Just wanted to stake a claim on what the boys are doing.

Thankfully -- and amazingly -- the ragged tears in Quentin's chest healed before Sam's eyes. After he'd finished gaping, Sam shook Quentin's shoulder. "Hey, Quentin. Can you hear me? We gotta get outta here. There might be--"

A claw clamped around Sam's neck, constructing his windpipe. He managed a squeak as something lifted him into the air, then turned him around.

He was face to face with a Wraith.

/So full of life, this one./ Sam heard its hissing in his head.

Sam lashed out with his feet. Despite solidly connecting with the alien's stomach, the thing barely flinched. Instead it beared serrated teeth.

A gunshot rang out. The Wraith shuddered as its eyes narrowed. "You so picked the wrong human for lunch, Fugly," Dean growled.

Still holding Sam with his feet dangling inches above the ground, it calmly trained its staff weapon on Dean. Dean fired again. And again. The Wraith snarled, but held its ground as it bled.

Gasping for air, Sam saw the Wraith's bony finger move on weapon. (DEAN!) He reacted.

Suddenly he was on the ground with the alien's hand still around his neck. Sam tore it off, only then noticing that the hand and arm were no longer attached to the Wraith's body. Gaping and sucking in air, Sam looked up to find the now one-armed Wraith sliding down a tree trunk 15 feet away. After a quick, wide-eyed glance at Sam, Dean assumed a shooter's stance and emptied his clip into the Wraith's head.

OOC: Yes, I conjured another Wraith so that the boys could get a piece of the action. Psi-boy telekinetically shoved the Wraith away from him. It's the Wraith's fault for holding on to its pray too strongly. ;)

If Methos wants to have at the Wraith, Dean hasn't necessarily killed it yet.

Jumping down from his tree, Jon pulled out a knife and sprinted towards the Wraith. He couldn't tell whether it was alive or dead, but he'd used up all his own ammunition trying to get the first one to drop Pierson. Either way that stunner was lying far too close to its remaining hand; how the other had been lost was a mystery for later, just like sprouting hair and the complete lack of aging by his original companions.

The creature stirred as he got closer, the bloody mass that was its head (he presumed it was blood anyway) turning in his direction. Its stumpy shoulder shifted as if the Wraith was maneuvring a phantom limb, and the fingers on its good hand started to twitch.

Shit. Jon threw the knife into the Wraith's good shoulder and rolled to pick up the stunner, but by the time he'd righted himself and gained a proper grip, the Wraith had wrenched the knife free with its teeth and was stumbling to its feet. Why can't we meet more nice aliens?

His finger found the trigger and Jon took aim. It might not kill the bastard, but the Winchesters needed to reload and three people had been hurt already.. hello.

Jon found his line of sight disrupted by an irritating doctor with a sword slung across his shoulders, chuckling at the Wraith like it was an object of contempt.

OOC: Methos reply to follow

OOC: Sam's reacting to Ami's remote viewing (http://community.livejournal.com/crossing_lostrp/104733.html?thread=3472157#t3472157).

As Jon leapt into the fray with moves that would his and Dean's father proud, Sam willed his arms and legs to stop shaking. Dean was shooting the thing. He should shoot it, too. (Where the hell is my gun--)

He was sitting in a chair in the control room, feeling unnaturally light and nearly exhausted. His dark-skinned, feminine hand was outstretched touching one of the monitors. Scott's concern and worry coursed through him, seeming to flow from his hands resting lightly on his neck and shoulders.

Everything about the contact, physical and mental, was wrong, but not in a bad way. Skin almost-tingled whereever his husband's fingers touched him. Entwined with Scott's apprehension was a cool calm, which Sam found both soothing and jarring.

Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled between his breasts--

(I shouldn't be here!)

"What the fuck?!" Sam gasped. The tang of gunpowder and blood replaced the antiseptic smell of the control room. His husband's hands -- (I'm not married! Or gay!) -- were gone. His hands felt trampled, gore-slicked vegetation beneath him.

"Sam! SAM!"

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean charging toward him. Behind his brother Jon aimed the alien weapon at the severely wounded Wraith. Adam stepped up weilding his katana.

Dean filled his field of view. "Sammy! You all right? Did you have another vision?"

Sam managed a weak smile. "No, but--" Pain exploded inside his head. He shuddered, covering his eyes. "Fuck."

Methos has a single-handed European style sword, not a katana (that'll be Duncan Macleod).

that'll be Duncan Macleod of the Clan Macleod

Sorry, couldn't resist

*ducks*

Doh!

*is too lazy to repost*

[[OOC: Continued from here (http://community.livejournal.com/crossing_lostrp/105224.html?thread=3473928#t3473928).]]

Sam was exhausted again and in excrutiating pain. He'd been in labor -- (Not me. Ami. Not me!) -- for what felt like days, and had decided that he wasn't going to do it. Naturally, neither his (Ami's) mother, Scott's mother Jenny, nor Scott was convinced.

"Ami, dear, you know the baby is going to come whether you want it to or not." Mum dabbed his forehead with a cool, wet cloth. "There's no point fighting it, you're just making yourself tense and making it hurt more. You need to relax."

He shook his head frantically, sweat drenched locks of hair sticking to his face and throat. The room was too hot, even though he'd managed to shed the silly paper thin hospital gown hours ago. The sheets were sticky with perspiration, the pulse oxygen monitor on his finger was itchy and the continual attachment to the intravenous pump was growing older with each passing moment.

"Why don't you climb up here and relax, then, Mum?" he heard himself demand. "You think you're some kind of bloody expert 'cause you've had a go at this before – "

The rest of his rant was lost in the throes of a powerful contraction, his uterine muscles clamping and spasming, contracting and retracting in preparation for the inevitable birth. He screamed out, body tightening and tensing against the powerful waves that emanated from within. He rode the wave as best he could, only vaguely aware of being urged to relax and breathe and when it was over, he collapsed against the hospital bed, thirsty, sweatier and more tired.

Someone slipped a few ice chips between his lips and he managed to be grateful for that even if he couldn't find the words or the energy to express it. Another contraction would follow soon, again and again until the pain likely killed him or he delivered Isabelle, whichever came first.

His mother and Jenny took turns petting him, giving useless advice and pep talks while trying to remind him of all those stupid breathing exercises, when what he really needed was his husband. Not the man who was dutifully holding his hand and rubbing his back or his legs, feeling calm and empty because he'd gone and *bloody fucking hid* in that bloody fucking Algeiban void of his.

(Algeiban?)

"You're doing good, Ami. Eight centimeters," Scott said softly. "You're almost there."

"Fuck. You," he ground out right before another contraction hit. He purposefully threw their link open as far as she could, even knowing the pain wouldn't touch Scott in the place where he was now. This time, at least, he managed to breathe.

When he came back down again, it was Jenny dabbing the washcloth over her face and body. "You're doing beautifully, Ami. The nurse went to alert the doctor. Another hour at the most. Your mother and I are so proud of you."

"Doesn't matter," he panted, savoring the feeling of the ice chips melting in his mouth and the coldness of the water that dripped across his body from the sweating cup. "I can't do this alone. I can't."

"You're not alone."

He glared at his husband. "Yes I am."

Blood. Sulfur. Dean's god-awful aftershave. A blinding (but way better than labor pains) headache. "I'm back. Thank god."

"Um, yeah." Dean sounded rattled. Sam felt his brother's arm wrap around him. "Gotta get you on your feet. Fugly's dead -- finally! -- but there might be more."

Sam opened his eyes. They wouldn't quite focus yet, but that was okay. Dean would help him, and Sam felt strong again. Compared to the fucked-up vision from hell, his headache was easy to ignore.

He stood with his brother's help. "Where's my gun? I want to kill something."

OOC: Sam's vision is based on fikgirl's post here (http://community.livejournal.com/amiscott/1514.html). There's more, but I didn't think that Sam deserved any more torture. ;)

*cackle* what if Ami and Sam managed to swap bodies?

Now, that wouldn't be very nice at all. Do you think I'd do such a thing? *is innocent*

;)

"So, my ugly friend, what do you have to gain by waving that knife around?"

Methos' eyes flicked to Jon, his head shaking a little before he took another step closer to the Wraith, sword swinging down to deflect the creature's pathetic attack - though it was strong, despite extensive injury. He'd have to remember that. Treat it like a far less likable Silas.

"You can still bleed," it ground out, spitting what passed for blood on the ground as it advanced on Dean, who seemed more than ready to expend another clip. "All of you."

Methos shook his head again, slicing a playful "M" in the Wraith's back in order to regain its attention. A cheeky prod on its behind was also too tempting to ignore: this thing's colleague had tried to eat him, for goodness' sake. It had almost given him away, and using any more bullets would be a waste considering that his sword was ever so sharp and unused these days. Apparently this thing couldn't damage him any any way, so there should be time to ~~play~~ torture it.

"It's not a tin soldier, Pierson," Jon yelled from the other side of the clearing. "Either do something useful or get the hell out of the way!"

In response, Methos pulled his towel from his belt and waved it like a matador's cape.

"Here, boy!" he called facetiously, slapping the Wraith on the head as it ran at him clumsily, following up with swing at its ribs.

"You irritate me," the creature growled, a sentiment that was echoed by the teenager and (if he wasn't mistaken) Dean.

Very well then, Methos decided, throwing the towel in the Wraith's face before plunging his sword deep into its abdomen. He twisted it and frowned before pulling the blade free, inspecting the surface. "You'd better not have acid blood."

"I have a knife," it reminded him, hissing liquidly. Still it came though, lunging obviously but efficiently.

"You did have a knife," the Immortal corrected the Wraith pointedly, batting its attempt to one side with a flourish that ended with the drop of both hand and knife to the ground. And a slice to the other side of its ribcage, for good measure. "Still think you can make me bleed?"

The Wraith made as if to reply, weak though it was, then recoiled from a blast from Jon's stunner and a couple of shots from the brothers' direction. Methos' head span round, glaring at the others angrily. The Rules might not have any place here, but he had made this his fight.

"What? You thought we'd let you have all the fun? This one didn't even touch you."

"You would do well not to interfere," Methos stated without emotion, changing the grip on his sword. The Wraith was on its knees now, a pose with which he was extremely familiar. So much for prolonging the show. "And save your bullets for something else."

The Ivanhoe flew through the air in a well-practiced arc, barely slowing as it severed the Wraith's neck from its shoulders. The bloody lump dropped and rolled to one side, while the remainder wobbled in place until Dean kicked it over. Methos didn't even realise that he'd been waiting for a Quickening until someone - Sam, he thought - tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he was ok. Killing mortals by sword had petered out a couple of centuries ago (even for those idiotic enough to join the army), so this decapitation was rather anti-climatic by modern standards.. other than the fact that he'd killed his first alien.

"Yes. Fine," was the distracted reply. Methos tugged some of the Wraith's clothing free and began to wipe his sword clean. "Just not what I was expecting when I woke up this morning, though I should know better by now."

"Mister Collins, you are totally at my mercy," Petofi picked up a glass and shattered it on the table. "So there are no doubts as to my sincerity, here is a demonstration." Petofi advanced on Quentin with a shard of broken glass.

"Hey, wait a minute," Quentin protested in vain as Petofi slashed his cheek with the glass.

"Behold, Mister Collins, my power over you!" With a flourish Petofi removed the cloth covering the portrait, revealing Quentin's face - with a fresh, bleeding cut on the cheek.

Incredulous, Quentin turned to look in the mirror - to see his face undamaged and pristine, with no sign of injury or blood.

"What?! How is that possible??" Quentin jolted awake, his eyes focussing on the face of Dr. Pierson, who was bent over him examining his chest.

"How is *what* possible, Mr. Collins?" Methos responded emotionlessly.

"What? Oh, just a stray memory. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that my life has been less than normal."

Quentin groaned and rubbed his head. "I feel like I've been drinking sherry for a solid week. What happened to the Wraith?" Before Pierson could reply, Quentin's eyes fell on the bloated, hairy disembodied arm. "Oh yeah. I somehow doubt they are supposed to do that."

Getting to his feet, Quentin surveyed the gore around the area. /Yuck,/ he thought. /I wonder what caused it to do that?/ A sudden flashback to the scene that had been replaying itself in Quentin's head before he regained consciousness gave him the probable answer to that question.

"We should regroup with the others," Quentin told the others remaining in the messy clearing. "I think it's this way."

Quentin took off through the jungle in the direction of the bunker.

EXIT QUENTIN

"I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that my life has been less than normal."

"You and me both, buddy," Jon muttered. He watched Sideburns disappear into the trees and gestured with his newly-acquired Wraith stunner (sweet). "What he said, let's go."

The doctor cant his head and smirked. "Which part?"

Jon raised an eyebrow. Was this guy kidding? "Move it, and feel free to volunteer why you taste so bad. Wraith aren't exactly known for their pickiness."

"You'd know all about that I suppose, hmm?" Pierson finished wiping his sword clean and rolled his eyes at Jon, sheathing the weapon before following Collins. "Maybe it was something I ate. I did try some Dharma tofu the other day."

Jon glared at the man's six and fought hard not to retch at that thought. It had possibilities, but not enough considering the crap that the Atlantis expedition had no doubt taken with them to Pegasus. Then there was the man who made albino Wraith grow brown fur.

"Y'know, life might be easier around here if people didn't keep so many goddamn secrets!" he exclaimed impatiently.

Pierson stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, a curious expression on his face. "What did you say?"

Jon scowled. Maybe he'd touched a nerve and if so, good. "You heard me."

"Maybe, but I didn't understand a word you said. It sounded a little like Latin, however it certainly was not."

That knocked Jon for a loop. No, no, no. Not that fucking shit. Not again. Like being a clone wasn't enough crap on his plate!

"Right, and you know enough Latin to be able to tell?" he snarked reflexively.

"I know more than enough, Mr Murphy."

Jon would have sworn out loud if he hadn't been so worried about what language he was apparently spouting, not bothering to wonder why Pierson knew Latin. He was a doctor, it wasn't inconceivable.. shit, crap, fuck..

He shook it off and waved the stunner along Collins' path, determined to minimise his words in case.. no, this was so not going to happen. But just in case.

"Move it. And keep an eye out for Wraith."

Jon watched Pierson's eyes for any sign of incomprehension, but there was none, other than a slight narrowing of his expression. Like he's not hiding anything himself.

"Very well," the man said finally.

JON & METHOS EXIT

Jon spouting Ancient -- hee!

Jaffa carry staff weapons... Wraith carry stunners. Not the same thing. Wraith weapons are much more like guns in form factor.

Duly noted. Thanks!

"Do something!" Quentin hissed nearby.

Methos scowled, replying in kind. "Like what? Shake a pointy piece of metal and hope the nasty deathray doesn't hit me?"

I officially nominate this for the quote vault. I had to finish laughing before I could nominate it, mind you.

"I'm well past my sell-by date," Methos muttered quietly, faintly amused that he was unpalatable to something so disgusting itself. "You can take it up with the manager."

Came a close second...

*giggle* that was the product of a chocolate-fuelled 1.30am typing session

[Sam, Dean, Locke] Out, Out, Damn Vortex!

[Mayday] Adventures in Wraith-sitting

[Locke] Adventures in Wraith-dispatching

[Mayday] Shoot first, ask questions later?

[McKay] No quasar yet.

[Dean, Sam] No quasar yet.

[Daniel]

[McKay] No, nor now

[Dean] No, nor now

[McKay] No-- where is everyone?

[Mayday] Don't shoot the backup!

Re: OOC apologies

Re: OOC apologies

Re: OOC apologies

Re: OOC apologies

[Locke] Don't shoot the backup! (tag McKay, Raelle)

[McKay, Raelle] That way, huh?

[Jon] Use what you've got

Re: OOC

[Methos] Past his sell by date

[Quentin] A Wafer-thin Mint, Monsieur?

OOC:

Re: OOC:

OOC applause

[Dean, Sam] What'd we miss?

[Sam] Sneak attack

[Jon] Sneak attack

[Sam] Getting away from it all -- part I

OOC

Re: OOC

Re: OOC

[Sam] Getting away from it all -- part II

OOC

Re: OOC

[Methos] Play time

[Quentin] What a hangover!

[Jon] Oh please

OOC snickers

OOC: Re: [Sam] Sneak attack

Re: OOC: Re: [Sam] Sneak attack

OOC: Quote Vault!

Re: OOC: Quote Vault!