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“Good. It reminds me that I am…”
I trail off, hesitant to say alive. If there is no death, is there really life? A breath no longer holds the same weight to me that I once did. Not after gaining this immortal stretch, this breath of eternity. A breath is simply a creature comfort to me now, I could live without it and simply bask in the aching, screaming burn of lungs without the air that was once so vital for survival, but I opt to breathe both out of habit and for comfortability.
She shakes her head at me, frowning. I know that it scalds her, ruffles her, that her “gift” to me has been met with such an abundance of bitterness. But she stole me away, forced me to watch all the people I loved slowly age and slip away. She stole my golden years, trapped eternally in the body of a young adult may seem like a gift, but jobs begin to be difficult to attain when your resume doesn’t match your face. To say the least about the pain of immortality.
As the child grows, I bask in their light and their warmth, loving them as if they are my own. Their life, 98 years, was a lengthy stretch of time for most humans, but for me, it felt like a blink. Over far too soon, and like all the other losses, this one destroys me. My heart torn out, my lungs aching, and again, she returns.
“I told you this would hurt.”
“Please.” All I need to say, she knows what I’m begging for.
Scoffing, she leaves me, crumbled at the rubble of the alter of my place of worship. The alter to my God that I was raised in. The God that she ripped me away from, barring me from the eternity that I had longed for. She took my family, took my faith, and gave me no hope of escape from this agonizing existence, and expects me to grovel and worship her every breath as if I was given a gift, not punished for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
So the cycle begins again, spiting her with my every thought. Every fiber of my being dedicated to being an eternal thorn and embarrassment. I find the weak, the helpless, the fearful, the abandoned, and I love them. Help them, protect them, and when she warns me of my impending pain, I spit at her warnings. I dive in and love just as much and as unwaveringly as I did when I was human, like I haven’t felt the agony of the impending loss a million times.
For every time she has chosen to be a harbinger of agony, of suffering and pain, I chose to be one of love, of happiness and hope. I will until the world rots around us and the gods and forsaken immortals are all that remain, or until she decides to unmake me, going back to my conception and unraveling my DNA as it begins its formation, so that my handprint can never mark history.
Her fierce and evil face contorts in fury each time I smile in anyone’s direction. But it’s only natural. Only natural for us to be at odds, for her to hate me so.
Her hideous name is Hate, and I have and will always worship at the alter of love.
The abandoned child you’ve taken in sleeps on your lap as the god who gave you immortality softly warns you. “This will hurt.”
Weeks after one of Dean’s really bad days, you’re in a diner, grabbing a quick bite with Dean, Sam, and Cas after a hunt. As you’re walking back to your table, you can hear Cas and Dean talking, but you’re not near enough to make out any of the conversation. You round the corner away from the bathrooms, and you hear the soft vulnerability in Dean’s voice as he murmurs, to himself more than to Cas. Sam and Cas pause, looking at him with surprised relief, and you slide into the booth next to him. Noting the pause in the conversation becoming awkward, you elbow him softly with a smile and offer up a few shining compliments about his work on the hunt you had just finished up. Your food arrives, and you all dig in, conversation resuming their regular flow. You can’t help but notice the smile that stays on Dean’s lips, and hope to yourself, and whomever or whatever else might be out there that cares, that it remains longer than the last smile did.
[COVERED IN BLOOD] Perhaps the world is slightly brighter having me in it.