FIC: Bastian's Tribe of -strike-Barbarians-/strike- Musicians 2/2--MCR/Highlander
full header & part one




Brian surveyed what was set up, it was as good as it was going to get. Campfire and hopefully no one would come to investigate it.

Worm had been thorough. Worm had learned never to underestimate what might happen when it came to these guys. He'd also been well versed in their propensity to go overboard in the obsession of the moment from the mundane to the bizarre. When called and told to get camping equipment—he bought out the fucking sporting goods aisle. Worm had taken it upon himself to follow at a distance in a rental SUV. He'd sent the crew home with reassurances and set off following tracking with the GPS locating option on the phones. Brian was going to make sure the guys gave Worm a raise at the first opportunity. Flashlights, lanterns, batteries, airmattresses, sleeping bags, citronella candles, bug repellent.

“Life jackets and rope?” Brian grinned. “We're in a forest.”

“How many years have I worked for these guys?” Worm snorted. “They'd find a lake and would try to drown or something.”

Brian couldn't argue with that.

The tarp was laid out over a thick sleeping bag, a bucket, towels, baby wipes, and bottled water for Frank and sleeping bags laid out for Matt and Bob near the campfire. The two jugs of Drano, plastic tubing and funnel were rounded up. The steel plate was grabbed off the bus and padded in towels wrapped around then belted on. Two more belts rounded up to hold Bob's arm in place on the piece of metal. Kyle was let loose after he agreed to help keep watch and was installed in front of the tent Layna and Manuel were sleeping in.

“Kids going to be up all night?”

Lyn shook her head. “Jetlag and Benedryl for the win.”

“Cool,” Brian sighed in relief and rolled his eyes at the jackass that had come with Methos squawking behind the duct tape gag. “Getting masochistic in your old age, Adam?”

Methos snorted. “I spent a hundred and seventy years with you, didn't I?”

Worm carried Frank carefully off the bus and laid him out on the tarp. Jamia was on the ground sitting next to him, visibly fighting the shakes. “Shechter.” she snarled.

“I know. I know, Jamia. Gonna be a bitch of a night and he'll probably die a few more times but he's gonna be fine. Worm keep an eye on everything. Let's get Bob and Matt guys. Jamia—let Adam okay? If Adam says it isn't likely to make anything worse, I believe him. I believe him completely. Totally. If anyone would know as far as I'm concerned it's Adam. He's got a lotta years on me, and he's always been with the book shit, philosophy and theory and even way back in the day he was big on studying anatomy and limits of Immortal healing. Old running buddy of his used him for the experiment a few times even...but...just trust me okay? Adam's not going to hurt Frank.”

Methos cautiously went to where the new Immortal was laid out, knife still in his heart and his wife sitting at his side. The I don't believe this shit, you're fucking insane and going to pay later look Methos gave him was priceless. Brian fought back a laugh. Yeah, he doubted even Methos had ever seen anything quite like this in all his years.

He swallowed as Mikey and Gee managed to carry Matt out ahead of them taking him on the sheet from his bunk, to, as Gerard put it, “make sure they didn't loose anymore pieces of his skull or what was left of his brains fall out.”

Ray took Bob's shoulders, Brian took his legs, and goddamn Bryar wasn't light, but they got him out to the sleeping bag by the fire. Methos had the tube inserted and blew into it. A Cheshire grin on his face as Frank's chest expanded. “Got it in one.”

“Good for you. Get the damn Drano in before it dislodges or some shit.” Brian shot back, Jamia was already a step ahead with the cap off the first bottle of Drano and the funnel in hand.

“Give it ten you think? More?” Gerard spoke up. “Cause it's gotta eat up his lungs before he's alive again right?”

“Yeah, ten or twenty. Clean shot to the heart is what killed him so it's not going to be that much to recover from. Even for a first death. Give the Drano time to do the damage before the knife's pulled.” Brian agreed.

“You wanna pull Matt's knife now?” Mikey asked quietly.

“Yeah...Ray, get one of Bob's arms make sure his fingers are all on and away from the edges don't want to smash one off by accident.”

Brian murmured a prayer in the almost pidgin-hodgepodge soundly rooted in ancient German he grew up speaking as he fell to his knees at Matt's side and reached for the knife, pulling it out. He forced himself to his feet and went to help Ray who was trying to decide how to go about strapping down Bob's arm to the piece of steel best. Perfectionist as always and he defended his dithering with how the hell should he know, he'd never tried to tie someone's arm down to smash all their bones with a sledgehammer before, no matter how dearly he had wanted to break every bone in Otter's hands one at a time with a regular hammer in Europe the tour Bob did sound for them. And, well, rigamortis had set in.

Had it ever. It took dislocating and snapping bone to get Bob's arm far enough out from his body to be strapped on the steel. Brian rested the sledgehammer's head on Bob's hand as he adjusted his grip, scooting back on his knees to be the perfect distance. The first swing carefully controlled no more than touching the sledgehammer to Bob's hand. The second bones crunched with a sickening sound and repeated a dozen more times all the way up to shattering Bob's elbow. Bob's arm unstrapped and carefully placed at his side as in line as it could be. The whole grisly process repeated with Bob's other arm before the knife was pulled from his chest.

Ray and Mikey settled down on the ground by Bob to wait out the revival. Brian moved to sit by Matt's head. Gerard was at his side, settling on the ground with lighter and four packs of cigarettes sat in front of their knees. He put his arm around Brian's waist and rested his head on Brian's shoulder. Lyn settled herself in a similar position at Jamia's side by Frank.

“Matt's gonna be okay. He's fuckin' gotta.” Gerard whispered.

Brian sure as hell hoped so. Even as he nodded he reached and brushed hair back from Matt's forehead.

“That is seriously fuckin' awesome,” Mikey murmured, watching sparks of Quickening start to move over Bob's arms.

Faint, slow, but Quickening sparks were starting to move along the edges of Matt's headwound.

Gerard reached for the cigarettes, lighting two. Brian took the one pressed to his lips almost on autopilot.

”Lover?” Methos asked settling in the dirt facing Brian and Gerard, eyes darting toward Matt.

Brian had to think a moment, it had been about seven hundred years since he heard that language. He wasn't even sure what the name of it was. A tribal tongue from somewhere in the Alpine foothills something like two and a half to three thousand years ago, Methos had taught him the language probably the fourth or fifth year after he'd found Brian.

Brian shook his head. ”He's been persistent. They've encouraged it. Couldn't. Not before. Chance he might not have entered the Game too...couldn't...”

Methos nodded. The odds of an Immortal growing old or dying some sort of natural death before Immortality asserted itself wasn't a sure thing to prevent immortality asserting itself. Some Immortals claimed to have died of various illnesses. Brian had watched a preImmortal child die of a fever that decimated the village he'd lived in then. The child's Immortality hadn't asserted itself. There had been an elderly priest who had been preImmortal and passed away quietly in his sleep at the boggling age of eighty during one of Methos tenures in an Abbey he'd taken Brian along with him. Brian had to wonder if a mercy killing hadn't been the trigger for those who claimed to have died of disease, that the dying had been smothered or their neck snapped to hasten the end of their suffering, or perhaps comatose, mistaken for dead and buried alive. That had to be the explanation. He hadn't....hadn't wanted any of them in the game.

Frank...fuck. Well too late to second guess that.

“Worm get that. His name is Duncan MacLeod...” Brian ordered when MacLeod's pocket started ringing.

“Dude chill, dick does shit for me I'm not trying for a grope,” Worm shook his head with a long suffering sigh as MacLeod tried to scream behind the duct tape gag.

Joe chuckled quietly, badly masking it in a cough as Worm answered the phone. “Duncan MacLeod's phone. He's a bit tied up right now,”

Worm looked up at Brian. “Bitchy scottish dude says he's the dipshit's cousin Connor. Dipshit was supposed to meet him for supper and didn't. And you all took off from the bar.”

Brian looked at Methos.

“Connor's one that wouldn't hurt. He was Tak Ne's last student. He's the one that got the Kurgan's head in 1985.”

“Tak Ne?” Gerard murmured.

“He lost his head about 500 years ago. Tak Ne was over three thousand at the time, originally Egyptian, magician of the priest caste before he became Immortal. Fucking amazing dude. That one sent me off with Tak Ne for what was supposed to be fifty years then fucking disappeared completely. Rumors had him without his head. The Magi usually passed me off as his kid or his student the seventy years we travelled together.”

“Well?” Worm demanded.

“You'll pay, if he causes the least bit of trouble. It's your fucking head, Old Man.” Brian growled.


~

Frank revived first. If only for about forty five seconds eyes huge and bugged out gasping and coughing out Drano. Lyn managed to grab him by the shoulders hauling him to something resembling a sitting position Jamia shoved a bucket almost into his throat. Christa managed to shove the other bucket at Alicia in time as well. That was repeated twenty minutes later, and twenty minutes after that, and twenty minutes after that.

Bob gasped and sat bolt upright terrified as Frank gasped and shuddered and died the fourth time from the Drano in his lungs.

“It's okay Bob, easy.” Ray said grabbing hold of Bob.

“Wha--” Bob panted shakily. “The fuh..”

“You were dead. Now you're not.” Mikey said simply.

Brian scrabbled to his feet, gun in one hand, his customized Broadsword in the other feeling the approaching Immortal presence.

“Fuck my ears...and if you fucking did some freaky voodoo shit and made me your zombie slave or some fucking thing I'm gonna beat you Mikeyway.”

“SHOW YOURSELF!” Brian bellowed. “IVE HAD ENOUGH OF COCKSUCKERS HIDING IN TREES FOR ONE DECADE, ASSHOLE!”

“I'M CONNOR MACLEOD OF THE CLAN MACLEOD!”

“It's Connor, Bastian,” Methos murmured.

“I'm Bastian Von Shonau, Come in closer. Worm will take your weapons. I'll have a bullet in the old fart and the sactimonious jackasses head if you try anything fucking stupid I'm not in the fucking mood! There's pregnant women and babies here. Don't fucking push me.”

~

Connor warily made his way in closer, the big guy took his coat, peeled it right off him then patted him down. “How the fuck do you get through an airport?” the big guy shook his head.

“Brian?” the shaky looking blond Immortal on the edge of hyperventilating.

“Yeah, Bob?” the one who identified himself as Bastian Von Schonau answered not lowering gun or sword.

“I was dead.”

“Yeah, explain that in a minute...”

“You didn't let Mikey Gee and Lyn do any freaky shit did you?”

“No. You were born Immortal. Just needed a violent death to kick it in. You got shot by a headhunter. So did Matt. I shot Frank after I took the bastard's head just to get this all the fuck over at once.”

“Took a head? And why the fucking fuck do you have a sword? No...we're not... Gerard didn't sign us all up for some SCA or freaky roleplay shit and this is a bad trip?”

“Nope.”

Connor glanced over at his kinsman bound with glow-in-the-dark tape to a lawn chair. “What is that about?”

“He's an ass and no one was in the mood for his shit about how we do things,” the armed Immortal glared.

Connor raised an eyebrow at Duncan.

“The Clan Chieftain got a bit upset by the barbarians.” Methos smiled, amused. “Bastian was my student. The last time Duncan met one of my students he took his head.” a flash of pain in the ancient Immortal's eyes for a second. His gaze hardened as it turned on Duncan. “You challenge Bastian, and you actually win, I'll have your head. I will hunt you and I will have your head. Your fit of righteousness and jealousy might have suited Byron's purpose to end it, he was never cut out for Immortality, but you'll not go after Bastian without paying for it with your head. And I trained Bastian. Bastian could have taken you seven hundred years ago Duncan, I'm betting he has only gotten better. You would have had your work cut out for you with Thane from what I knew of his Chronicle. Thane didn't stand a chance against Bastian.”

Bastian snorted.

Connor's eyebrow raised further at the buzz of another immortal a second before the little man lying on a tarp gasped, the two women kneeling by him moving in almost perfect unison, the one with tattoos and a ponytail yanking him to a sitting position the other shoving a bucket under his chin as he began to cough and spit out some chemical smelling fluid gasping and choking before dying again in all of a minute.

“They put Drano in his lungs to try to get rid of his asthma-type symptoms before he recovered from his first death.” Joe spoke up. “That one they pulverized his hands and arms with a sledgehammer because of arthritis or something like that wrong with his wrists.”

“Bob's had a fuck of a time holding drumsticks the last couple years. He needs to be able to hold a goddamned sword.” one of the mortals said insistently.

“You—you did not fucking smash my wrists, Schechter.”

“You bet your ass I did, Bryar.”

“How rattled is the quickening yet?”

“Fuckin' headache.”

“Spar?” Methos asked. “Or will it wake the kids up?”

“If they haven't woke up yet they're not likely to. They're used to sleeping through chaos.”

“He's not waking up for a while yet, Bastian.”

“Let's fuckin' do it then, old man,”

“You fighting or fuckin? I wouldn't mind watchin' either.” a pregnant woman called out, a bucket in her lap and looking a little woozy eyeing the once again dead new Immortal. “Be a nice distraction.”

“Mikey Way, your wife is a pervert.”

The one mortal kid grinned. “I know. It's awesome. And I wouldn't mind watching either. I know Gee and Lyn wouldn't object any. Jamia and Christa wouldn't. And Bob 'n' Ray's seen it all anyway.”

“I would!” the huge guy called Worm said. “I draw the line at having to watch. I've interrupted enough hauling asses to soundcheck and shit. I've delivered love notes with zombies and hearts all over them. I. Am. Not. Watching. Schechter. Get. Fucked.”

Duncan made a hoarse strangled shout behind the duct tape over his mouth.

“Aye, see why he's taped,” Connor said dryly fighting a chuckle. He watched the two Immortals move toward the far side of the camp fire away from the rest. Methos shrugging off his coat and pulling his Ivanhoe.

Von Schonau, or Schechter, whatever it stopped long enough to strip down to his underwear with the words, “I've got four sets of clothes with me and ones already been ruined. You like slicing me too much.”

Methos shrugged and pulled off his sweater and tshirt, kicked off shoes, socks and jeans abandoned as well. Catcalls from the women and a couple whistles from two of the men.

Connor didn't think a one of them were much more than an inch from snapping. He glanced down at the one that Methos said wouldn't be waking soon. The head wound was bad enough it would take a while, aye, even for him. That was a bad one. Connor shook his head at the glare on his kinsman's face. Terrified every one of them, worried over the new Immortals whether Duncan thought they should be or not. And he had the impression that the knowledge of Immortals was pretty damned new all around for the group.


Connor watched the two as they circled. Warming up with some easy trades of blows before starting in earnest, working first through a series of styles that seemed to switch with a quirk of the eyebrow, some flicker of expression. These two had trained together for years at some point. Not quite seamless, not quite completely in sync, but at one point Connor was willing to bet they knew what the other was going to do as they thought it.

The short new immortal who had had his lungs filled with bloody Drano revived and died twice more as the two went through their paces, sheen of sweat on skin glinting in the light given off by the moon, lanterns and fire.

Methos tilted his head. The shorter Immortal smirked. Really, Von Schonau should be at one hell of a disadvantage, the broadsword he was using looked heavy, even if it was shorter than a normal one,more in line with his height and reach. Wiry little bastard who wasn't more than 5'6 Connor was willing to bet.

The two flew at each other in earnest, when one would think they would be tiring and ready to quit. Methos had the advantage of reach, more than a half foot taller, and for all his leanness, was a deadly swordsman and far stronger than his lean frame and baggy clothes would make one think. Von Schonau knew how to use his size though, how to duck and weave and work in closer than most were used to defending against. It was a free-for-all no style no formality, hack and slash and try to draw blood.

They seemed to be keeping score by blood if Von Schonau's taunting “First point to me, old man.” was anything to go by a the slice carved into Methos' arm.

“Oh motherfucking fuck...” the blonde Immortal, new Immortal, stared.

The tall mortal next to him slung an arm around his shoulders. “Brian hasn't steered us wrong yet. He'll teach you, Frankie and Matt how to do that too.”

The blonde nodded. “Yeah...yeah. Bri will. Fucking fuck.”

“Yeah.” the other agreed.

Connor wondered how much of this was for Duncan's benefit. Von Schonau, on the small side or not, would be one hard fight, and Connor had to admit, it was likely he'd be the one walking away without a little luck on Duncan's part.

“BASTIAN!” Methos snarled.

Something changed in the tone of the fight, Methos ran the shorter Immortal through getting wounded near fatally himself.

“Ow, motherfucker,” Von Schonau gasped dropping to his knees as the Ivanhoe's blade was pulled from his abdomen.

“You back in control?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Ow.”

“BRIAN!”

Connor raised an eyebrow at the man suddenly on his feet with a gun in his hand and Worm was right there hovering over him. Connor wasn't likely to have too much a chance unarmed against the big man.

“The quickening's still fighting it's okay, Ray. The can't take a head on holy ground was broken somewhere...that's whats wrong with the feel...” Bastian/Brian managed to grate out.

Methos frowned.

“The fuck, Brian?” the blond new Immortal demanded more than a little green at the painful and gruesome wait for the impalement wound to heal. Old enough and strong enough that the healing was enough to keep him from bleeding out and temporary death, not much an advantage in this case even with the clean simple wound made by the Ivanhoe, he'd still been run through and Immortal healing did nothing for pain.

Connor settled himself on the ground near the feet of the glaring big guy watching the group. The little guy revived and died a half dozen more times. Periods of revival getting a bit longer though agonized. They were named off as they were pointed to in turn by Bastian/Brian.

A little girl toddled out of a tent. She barely more than a year old, delicate and tiny and absolutely beautiful. Big worried eyes as she stared “Uhn Fank? Uhn Mah?”

“Uncle Frankie and Uncle Mattie aren't feeling good. They'll be better tomorrow, honey.” Gerard told her, her diaper was changed and she was gotten a sippy cup of milk.

Connor chuckled softly at Duncan's squeak. The greasy haired man in clothes that could possibly walk by themselves cuddled the baby girl to his chest and swayed with her tight in his arms singing softly to her—songs from Caberet.

Duncan squeaked more when Brian barked at Mikey and Alicia no sex, no coming for Alicia, when Mikey declared they were going to lay down a while, his wife needed some rest. Goddamned if they were going to get stuck with Alicia going into labor on top of all of this. Two of the women spoke up agreeing yup that could help set labor off, not likely unless Something else was wrong or baby was about ready to come on their own.

”What has you so outraged? They remind me of when I was a boy.” Connor asked quietly and shook his head. Duncan looked at him as if he were mad. ”Ye do realize that it's mostly to keep the leader of this clan from losing his temper and taking your head that your bound?”

Duncan glared.

Connor sighed. Well perhaps when Duncan was freed and had a few days to get over the indignity his kinsman would realize this lot meant no harm, at least none to Duncan. Nor Joe, Methos or himself. They easily could if they decided any of them were a threat, perhaps had at first, but no longer.

A feud, a three year long drought, some sort of illness sweeping through the herds and taking a goodly number of them, too many in all honesty, fevers sweeping through the clan. Connor's boyhood highlighted by hard times for the clan, and he grew up in a crofter's hut not the Chieftain's fine keep. Bawdy humor had abounded, if kept quiet in front of the more strictly religious women. Vigils had kept not so very differently over kinsmen injured in battle than this crude and edge-of-snapping lot were waiting on the one new Immortal to get the poison completely from his system and the other to wake from his first death and the brutal head injury.

Peace and prosperity, nigh a century later and twas the Chieftain's keep Duncan was raised in. Raised with a headful of noble ideals and fine manners, and bloody stubborn as hell. Once Duncan had made his mind on the right of things he didn't tend to change it, not even when he was proven wrong and the fact of the matter beaten into his thick skull repeatedly. Duncan was a good man, if as fallible as any other. He would have mad a fine, though unbending, Chieftain of Clan MacLeod. He was exactly what he was raised and trained to be and defiantly clung to the arrogance, the ingrained habit of his mortal life that his word was law.


Immortality and the game were explained to the dazed Bob by Brian, who seemed tired, and obviously not the first time he'd run through the explanation in the past few days. The poisoned Immortal finally seemed to have worked the poison from his lungs and was helped to one of the tents to lay down with his wife, who had been the one holding the bucket under his chin. If he tried to disappear on her, move on, she'd be following and possibly run him through to get it through his head he wasn't leaving her while she had breath. The tiny dark haired woman was fiercer than his Heather had been, but none the less he was reminded of Heather all the same.

The story of what had happened after Bob and Matt had been shot by Thane, and the logic of the Drano and crushed arms explained to the confused new Immortal. A bit crazed or not, Connor liked this odd little band.


~

Brian awoke at the gasp and jolt of the body he was curled up against.

“Matt? Cortez, man you with me?” Brian whispered. Terrified unrecognizing dark eyes stared at him. “Matt...shh, s'okay Matty not gonna hurt you. It's me, it's Brian.”

“I don't know you...where...where am I?”

“State park bit less than an hour from Seacouver Washington.”

“Wha—where?”

“What's the last thing you remember Matt?”

“Dad blowing his top over my report card...got a D in Algebra and a D- in Lit.” Matt said shakily, sounding desperately young and terrified.

Brian's swallowed. “What's the date, Matt?”

“October seventh,”

“Year?”

“Ninety-two--”

“How...fuck how old are you, Matty?”

“Fourteen--”

Brian swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. Goddamn Goddamn. He tried to be thankful, this seemed to be Matt whole, sane, mentally as capable as ever, just twenty years of memory gone. Fuck.

“Matt, fuck, oh fucking hell...listen to me. I'll prove it. We'll go on the bus over there and you can look in the mirror. Hell, look at your arm, Matt. You didn't have the ink at fourteen.” the sun was trying to come up through the haze of fog, lanterns still stubbornly if dimly glowed with dying batteries and the last embers of the campfire still crackled. Enough light to see the tattoos were there if not all the detail. “It's June twenty-eighth, and the year is twenty-twelve.”

The terror on Matt's face, in his eyes as he looked at the ink on his arm and then at Brian still lying next to him, curled into him with an arm around Matt, tore at Brian. Brian tightened his arm around Matt, pressing closer without a second thought. “S'okay, oh fuckin' hell, babe, we'll...we'll fuckin' get through this somehow. Figure it out. You're safe, take care of you, promise.”

“Where's the toilet paper I'm not dripdrying if I don't have to and did you two finally just fuck and put us all out of our misery watching you idiots dance around?”

“Alicia!” Brian growled. “Toilet papers in the front seat of the Expidition Worm brought.”

“Matt? You okay?” Alicia frowned around a yawn rubbing her eyes, winced and rubbed her side arching her back. “Kid is trying to make me black and blue from the inside out.”

“Alicia...Matt isn't up for this—don't.”

“He's okay?”

“Except for the fact he thinks it's 1992, he's fine.” Brian swallowed. “Go” he ordered and glared until Alicia reluctantly took the hint. “C'mon. Let's—let's go to the bus, can see a mirror and no one'll come too close..”

“My head itches, weird it's--”

“That's normal, I'll get to that too.”

“You—you're—we? Uh--” Matt stammered terror in his eyes and a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Friends. Very good friends. Working maybe towards more, but no, we weren't together quite yet...”

“So we never—“

“Had sex? Yeah that we did..once a few months ago.”

Brian tamped down the ache in his chest. Matt was fucking destroyed, so scared and so young and completely fucking lost.


~

It was late afternoon when Brian led Matt back off the bus. Matt was...a terrified kid, not remembering over half his life without Immortality and the Game thrown at him. Brian kept his arm around Matt's waist holding him close as they tried to sort out what they were going to do next. What Ray had used to cancel, what the hell they were going to do about touring and everything else. They at least had another break coming up, planning on a good six months or more. Mikey and Alicia's baby due in a month, Gee and Lyn's new one in four and a half months.

“Fucking shit, what is this? Immortal Grand Central Station?” Brian muttered when Joe, who'd been allowed to go for checking the bar and a change of clothes returned with two other Immortals. A redhead that didn't look more than twenty or so and a woman that looked like she could be a supermodel.

Brian gave Methos an unamused look at the annoying Scot being cut loose from the tape he'd been in. Methos shrugged. Brian turned his glare back on the two other Immortals that had shown up.

“It wouldn't hurt to have them spar with others, learn different styles,” Methos pointed out.

“They need swords and to know how to hold them without cutting their fucking leg off or something first.” Brian snorted.

“Richie would do good learning some from you.”

Brian eyed the redhead a long moment then snorted. “What? Two decades in the game?”

“Not quite,” Methos agreed.

“You can bring the twerp with you. You're wrapping up whatever shit you got going and coming along for the ride,” Brian snorted tightening his arm around Matt who shook at the buzz of so many Immortals. He wondered at the sensitivity Matt seemed to have to the buzz, hopefully that would fade or Matt would adapt to that sooner than later it was going to be one hell of a detrriment to Matt's continued survival.

“Twerp?” Richie huffed.

Brian ignored him and ignored the big dark-haired moron who blew a fucking gasket when Brian slipped the little influence he had into his voice and told Matt to calm down and relax.

Worm grabbed Frank and lifted him up off his feet to dangle in the air against Worm's chest. Mikey glared. Gerard started shouting, Ray hurried to put a heavy hand on Gerard's shoulder, Bob stalked forward and busted Mac's nose.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You. Know. Jack. Shit. That's the one Bri brought us here for. You don't count for fuckall. Now go away.” Bob snarled.

Methos shook his head. “This is a tribe of barbarians, you're not going to get the better of them or sew any dissension in them.”

“No you cannot make barbarian tribes the theme of your next concept album, Gerard.” Brian groaned.

“Immortality?”

“No.” Brian shook his head.

“Yes.” Frank said still dangling in Worm's hold.

“Fuckin' A,” Mikey nodded.

“Yeah...” Bob tilted his head at Gerard. “Yeah, go for it. No costumes like the Black Parade or some shit. I'm not doing a tour in a fucking fur skirt or some goddamned thing.”

Ray nodded. “Absolutely no costumes, Gee, but yeah...that'd be...yeah.”

Brian groaned. Well, health, holed up writing...that at least would buy time for intensely training Matt, Frank and Bob out of the public eye and deal with a scared to death fourteen year old fucking kid in the body of a thirty four year old man with no memory of the years between. Reteach Matt the songs and the equipment and have him even barely able to be out in the world without someone holding his hand.

“Call me in two weeks? I'll be set enough then to come join you wherever you're at,” Methos decided.

Brian relaxed and leaned a little against Matt. “Thanks.”