BY DANIELLE DUCREST

A Highlander/The Crow: Stairway to Heaven Crossover

Disclaimers: Duncan MacLeod, Joe Dawson, Methos, and the concepts of immortality are not my own. They are characters in Highlander: The Series, which is owned by Rysher Entertainment and Davis/Panzer Productions. Sarah Mohr, Eric Draven, and Detective Daryl Albrecht are all characters in Crow: Stairway to Heaven, which is owned by UPN and the sci-fi channel. Any copyright infringements were not intended. This story was written for entertainment and not for profit.

The character John Raiman/ immortal Carl Weiss is my own.

Author’s Note is located at the end of this story.

*****

A teenager dressed in normal street clothes walked down into a deserted street. He walked on with eyes cast to the ground, whistling softly. Thinking he was alone and safe, he relaxed as he continued to walk towards his house, only a few blocks away. He always thought of this place as safe, and unlike other parts of the city, he never did watch out for anything suspicious when he came to this road.

But, unfortunately, tonight that very street wasn’t safe. Three figures stood in the shadows as the kid approached. When he came up to them, they stepped into the light, one in front of the teen and two in back.

The teen froze. He knew who was standing in front of him, and when he felt hands on his shoulders he knew there was no escape. "Hi, guys." He said quietly, his fear showing clearly in his voice.

"Hey, Johnny." The man in front of him said. "Where do you think you’re going?"

"N-nowhere." Johnny said, shaking furiously.

"That’s right, Johnny. You’re smarter than we thought." He took out a gun, pointing it at the boy’s chest. "You aren’t going anywhere until you tell us where the money is."

"W-what money?" Johnny barely managed to get out.

"Oh, come on, Johnny. No games this time." The man in front of Johnny turned the gun’s safety off. "Tell us where it is, or you’re dead."

"I don’t know!" Johnny tried to get out of the firm grasp of the two men who held onto him, but it was no use. He wasn’t nearly as strong as they were.

The man with the gun shook his head. "Time’s up, Johnny-boy." He pulled the trigger back slowly, and all the teenager could do was stare at it and wait for his life to end.

The trigger was never pulled back all the way. This was because, out of nowhere, a man came up from behind the two goons holding onto Johnny. It was Eric Draven. "Hey," he said, causing the two to let go of Johnny and look behind in surprise. Before they realized it, both were lying on the ground after being kicked, punched, and slapped numerous times by their new rival. The young boy had long since gotten out of the way, so now it was just him and the man with the gun left. The man with the gun didn’t even pause to look down at his goons before he’d shot the Eric twice. He watched as the other man keeled over, smirking.

But, to his amazement, the man he shot didn’t fall onto the ground like he was supposed two. Instead, Eric clutched his stomach for a mere second, then stood up, the pain long since passed. "What the heck?" the man with the gun cursed. The next thing he knew, his gone had been kicked from his hand, and he was lying on the ground with Eric on top of him.

"Who’s your boss?!" Eric shouted into his ear.

"Like I’m gonna tell you," the other man said.

Eric’s legs wrapped around him tightened. "I said who’s your boss?!"

The other man began to panic. After this guy had defeated the others without being armed, he had no idea what he was capable of. "John Raiman!" he yelled, closing his eyes, waiting for his rival to do something horrible.

But Draven wasn’t finished. "Where is he?"

"I don’t know, man!" the other man cried out. "I never met him. His men always came to see me." He knew he’d be dead any minute now, and tried not to look panicked as he waited. But he wasn’t killed. Instead, he was lifted from the ground by Eric and held in the air.

"Then you tell them I’m coming for him," Eric said. "And if I ever see you hurt anyone like you were about to, and you’d better do it, ‘cause I’ll be watching. Do you understand me?"

The other man nodded. "Yeah, man. I understand you."

"Good." Eric let him down. "Now go."

When the other man was gone, Eric approached the young teenager who knelt behind a nearby car. When Eric was only a few steps away, the boy backed away from him.

Eric looked down at him. "It’s okay," he told him. "You can go home now."

The boy ran the remaining blocks to his house, and Eric watched him go making sure Johnny didn’t run into anyone else. When the boy was safely inside, Eric went directly to the police station, where he knew his friend was working the night shift. He found the detective in his office, filling out some paperwork.

"What are your doing here, Eric?" Detective Daryl Albrecht said, motioning him in.

"Hey, Detective," Eric said. "I need some information."

"What’s that?" Daryl asked.

"I need to know everything the police has on John Raiman." Eric answered.

"John Raiman…" Daryl said thoughtfully. "I know him. I arrested him a few years back, put him in prison."

"What did he do?"

"Well, we’d found a decapitated body in an alley one night, and next to it lay two swords. Turns out, an ancestor of Raiman's once owned one of the swords, so we arrested him. The prints on the sword turned out to be his, so he got a life sentence in prison. But, he broke out of few months ago, and we’ve been trying to find him since." The detective looked at Eric. "You aren’t thinking of going after this guy, are you?"

"What if I am?" Eric asked.

"Eric, come on. Let the cops handle something for once."

Draven shook his head. "I can’t, detective. Can you give me a clue as to where he is?"

Daryl sighed and shook his head. "Sorry. We don’t know where he is."

Eric nodded. "Thanks for the information." He strolled out into the corridor. Daryl didn’t try to stop him because he knew it wouldn’t do any good. His dead friend wouldn’t follow the rules and seldom did. Daryl knew his friend would be all right, knowing bullets couldn’t hurt him, but that wasn't his concern. It’s just that sometimes Eric could be a real pain in the but.

He may not be able to stop Eric, but the detective had to make sure it was Raiman Eric would be going after. He rushed to some file cabinets along the wall and ran out into the deserted hall after Eric. Eric was almost out the door when he called, "Wait!" He ran over to Draven and handed him a black and white prison photo. "This is what him."

Eric nodded and took the photo. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah. But if everyone on the force finds out I've been helping you out, you're the one to blame." Eric nodded again and walked out.

Outside the station, Eric began walking to his place. About halfway there, he heard a screech. Looking up, he saw the crow, perched on a drainpipe connected to a wall. The crow held something in his mouth, which he dropped down to Draven. Draven looked at it. It was a tiny bit of dark gray fabric. Wool, he realized. This piece of clothing held something for him to see. Eric closed his eyes and watched.

Eric opened his eyes. He looked up to the crow, and knew it wanted him to find the man who had killed the other in such a way. "Where?"

The crow flew across the street to the other side, landing in front of an apartment building. Eric followed it and paused in front of the building. The crow screeched and flew away, telling Draven he needed its help no more.

Eric approached the building and walked inside. The interior of the place proved it wouldn’t decide to deteriorate for a couple more decades. The walls were in good condition, and the paint seemed brand new. It was a nice place to live.

Draven walked over to the front desk, but paused when he was a few steps away. He wasn’t sure if the guy he was looking for used Methos as a normal, everyday name. He considered asking for an Adam, but more than one Adam may live in here.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to find out. Because, at that very moment, Methos stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. He was dressed in the same attire that he wore in the warehouse. Not looking around at the people in the lobby, Eric didn’t think he noticed Eric was following him until. But when he turned the corner of the apartment building outside the door, Eric was proved wrong. Methos was waiting. He grabbed Eric around his neck and pulled him into the alley.

"Just who are you?" Methos asked, letting go after he realized Eric wasn’t going to struggle.

"Draven. Eric Draven." Eric said.

"Why were you following me?"

"I need your help," Eric paused before adding, "Methos."

Methos raised a questioning eyebrow at him that Eric could have sworn had a hint of surprise in it. "Sorry. The name isn’t Methos. What kind of name is that? It’s Adam Peirson," he said, not completely convincing.

"Sure it is." Eric said just as calmly. "So, will you help me?"

"First, answer this. Why do you need me?" The man who insisted on being called Adam Peirson asked.

"It’s a long story." Eric said. "Care to discuss it over coffee?"

Adam considered this man for a moment. He shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" then he asked, "Mind if we discuss it over beer instead?"

When Eric shrugged, Methos started down the road, motioning Eric to walk in front of him. He had to be cautious. This could be a trick. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Eric Draven." Eric repeated.

Draven. Methos couldn’t recall hearing that name before. Even better reason to go to Joe’s. That’s why Methos suggested beer. He wanted to know if his watcher friend knew him. Methos wasn’t sure Draven was a watcher or not because all the time they were walking over to Joe’s he couldn’t see Eric’s wrist. He hoped Joe could tell him.

Joe Dawson was working at the counter like always. When Methos came in with Draven, Methos led him to a table and once Eric was seated, he went up to Joe.

"Hi, Joe." Methos greeted him at the counter.

"Hey, Adam." Joe asked, "Usual?" At Methos’ nod, he poured the beer into a glass. "Does your friend want anything?"

Methos shook his head, looking at the long-haired man seated at the table.. "Says he doesn’t drink, which is pretty strange because he agreed to come here." Methos looked back at Joe. "He isn’t immortal, and I’m not sure if he’s a watcher. But on my way here, he just came out of nowhere, addressed me as Methos, and asked for my help. Do you recognize him?"

Joe shook his head. "Never seen him before. I’ll go into my office and look him up." With that, Joe left the bar and stepped into his office.

"Thanks." Methos told him before he left. Methos went back to the table with two beers and sat down. After gulping down the first one entirely, he leaned back in his chair and looked at Eric, who had been watching. "Okay. Spill."

Eric leaned back in his chair as well. How much should he tell him? "Earlier this evening, I ran into this gang. When I asked them who their boss is, they told me it was John Raiman." Eric held out the picture he’d acquired at the police station. "I thought maybe you’d recognize him."

John Raiman. Methos pondered and looked at the photo. The name wasn’t familiar, but the face certainly was. Methos couldn't exactly remember where he saw it, but he knew it was in the recent past. Then, suddenly, he remembered. He nodded at Eric. "We’ve met before." He told Eric. ‘It was only 64 years ago’ was the part he didn’t add. Let’s see. It was 1935, in Louisiana…

John Raiman, also known as Dr. Carl Weiss, drove up to the capitol and parked. He had run out of gas, and had to stop here. Right at the place he didn’t want to be near at all. The current governor and senator of Louisiana, Huey Long, his father-in-law’s political enemy, was presently meeting the state legislature at this very building. But Weiss had no choice. He cursed and got out, grabbing his coat from the passenger side of the car, and strolled up to the capital’s doors. Hidden in his coat was his .22 caliber. The gun was there because, well, he may just run into Huey Long by chance and would be able to use it. He strongly hated that man. Not only because of his father-in-law, but because of his own reasons. He would have been rich now if it weren't for Huey Long and his stupid "Every Man a King" slogan. He had sworn he’d kill that man some day, even if it meant sneaking into the White House after the election. That is, if Huey Long won the election. Carl knew he’d go crazy if that man ever became president.

And, as luck had it, as far as Carl was concerned, he managed to get past security and found Huey Long strolling to his office down a corridor. But that wasn’t the best part. The best part was the senator was alone. No bodyguards. Completely alone.

While he walked up to the senator, Weiss tried to remain calm, but it was difficult. When he was only a few feet away from Long, Carl stopped.

"Good evening, Mr. Long," he said, trying to be cheerful.

When Long looked up, he was greeted by a .22 caliber pistol aimed directly at his chest. Before he could call out for help, Carl fired. The noise could be heard throughout the hall. Long cried out, stumbling past his assassin to the other side of the corridor. But Weiss didn’t have an opportunity to fire at him again. Because other people had heard the gunshot and were coming to inspect what happened. Weiss turned to look behind him and saw two men running towards him. Weiss recognized them immediately as Long’s bodyguards from television broadcasts. Both of them had guns raised at him, and before he could do anything to react, 32 bullets entered his body, and he plunged into darkness.

Methos had been one of Long’s bodyguards. Curse him for letting the senator out of sight for even a second. He and his partner went straight away to Our Lady of the Lake Hospital with Long and watched helplessly as he died after because he was too weak to undergo a second two-hour operation. The first one had taken too much of Long’s strength. Methos hadn’t even realized Weiss was a pre-immortal at the time. The meeting had gone by too quickly, so he couldn’t have noticed it. Besides, at the time, Methos was more concerned of Long’s safety. It was what he was being paid to do, after all. If he hadn’t been Long’s bodyguard, he probably wouldn’t have cared. But now, Methos knew Weiss was immortal. It wasn’t too surprising. At least not to him. A lot of people always turned out to be immortals, especially the ones you least expect to.

Coming back to reality, Methos looked back up from the picture at Eric, who was still waiting for him to answer the question. "Yes, I know him." Methos said once more. "We met a long time ago."

"How long ago was that?" Eric asked, staring directly into Methos’ eyes. "A century? A millenium? How many years?"

Methos stared at Eric, surprised for the second time that day. "Just how much do you know about me?"

"Only what this piece of fabric tells me," Eric said, pulling out the bit of gray material the crow had given him. Methos took it from him, and immediately recognized it as one of his old sweaters.

He looked back up at Eric. Who on earth was this man, who was able to get a story from cloth? "Just how do you do that?"

"Well, you may be the world’s oldest man, while I am the world’s only alive dead man."

Methos was confused. Did he say he was dead? But how could that be? He certainly wasn’t immortal, because the entire time Methos had known him he couldn’t feel the buzz at all. "And your meaning is?"

Eric stood up and walked to the door. "Come outside where we can talk in private, and I’ll tell you." Methos followed.

Outside, they walked along the sidewalk for a long time before Eric spoke again. "A year ago, my girlfriend Shelly and I were in our loft, performing an eternal love ceremony at my suggestion, when three men came through the door, guns in hands. They killed Shelly, and they killed me. When I was shot, I fell through the window onto the street below and died. But I couldn’t go on. I had too much rage in my soul. I was sent back to the world of the living, and here I am."

Methos looked up from the ground at Draven, but could see no hint of lying in the other’s far-off look. After a few minutes, Draven turned to him and said, "I’m already dead. I do not eat, drink, or sleep, or have any need to. Just by holding something, I can see the memory it possesses. That’s how I knew your name and age. But that’s about all I know. It’s your turn to tell your story."

Methos paused. If this man was lying, he covered it up well. But before he fell into the trap, if it was one, Methos needed to know if it was the truth. "Prove it."

Draven nodded. He thought Methos would ask him that. He felt around his pockets for a knife. He couldn’t find one. "Do you have a knife?" he asked.

Methos hesitated. He knew he didn’t, but he didn’t really want to show Eric his sword. Unfortunately, it looked like he had no other choice. He unsheathed his Ivanhoe and held it in his right hand.

Even after seeing the vision from the sweater, Eric was surprised. He was used to guns, but it wasn’t everyday he saw a sword. But, after a moment, he pulled up his left sleeve and said, "Cut along my arm."

Methos immediately looked at the his wrist. It was tatooless. Then he looked up at the Eric’s arm. If Draven wasn’t what he claimed, Methos may cut open a blood valve and the man would slowly bleed to death. But Eric seemed determined. So Methos raised his sword and cut a long, skin-deep wound along the other’s arm. When he droped it again, he watched as the wound on Eric’s arm became smaller and smaller, then was gone completely without leaving a scar. He noted that it was different from how immortals healed, but he wasn’t exactly sure how.

Eric lowered his sleeve, and Methos said nothing. "Your turn," Eric said.

The old man looked up at him. This man wasn’t immortal, but he could heal just as fast. Perhaps he was what he claimed to be. Still, if this man wasn’t to be considered a friend, he shouldn’t tell him about immortals. But, Eric had just told Methos his secrets, and Methos knew he wasn’t lying. "My name is really Methos, like you said. I am part of a race known as immortals, and I cannot die." Methos paused and took a breath. "Here’s my proof." He pulled up the left sleeves of his overcoat and sweater, raised his sword to his arm and made the same cut that he made on Eric. It was then he realized how different their wounds healed. His left blood, while Eric’s arm was stainless.

Eric had noticed it, too. "That’s another way to prove I’m not like you."

Methos sheathed his sword. Just at that moment, a crow screeched. Both men looked up at where the dark bird perched on an electricity line. Then Methos understood just who Draven was. "You’re a crow, aren’t you?" he asked him.

Eric nodded. "Yes, I am."

Methos nodded, too. To the unspoken question, he said, "I lived through the time people believed crows brought dead souls to heaven. I never believed it, though." He looked back up at the crow. "But I guess now I know it’s true."

"So, will you help me?" Eric asked, causing Methos to look back at the man. Methos was about to say ‘no’, but he stopped himself. Why not? Sure, he’d be going up against another immortal, something he rarely did, but he might as well some time. Besides, deep down Methos felt like he owed it to Long. Well, sort-of. He mentally cursed. He probably wouldn’t be feeling this way if he’d never met his younger immortal friend, Duncan MacLeod. The Scott really brought back feelings he had hoped he’d never feel again, but now did because of him.

Methos stood there and thought for a long time. Draven waited with a patience that matched his own at times. Finally, Methos announced with a shrug, "Sure. Why not?"

Part Two

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