Author: Kat Lee
Challenge/Prompt: 1_million_words Say What Friday: "The problem with instant gratification is that it takes too long." -- Postcards From The Edge
Warning(s): Spoilers, Cannon Character Death
Word Count: 1,688
Date Written: 16 April 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Kripke, not the author, and are used without permission.
They say that the problem with instant gratification is that it takes too long. I’ve heard that a plethora of times over the centuries I’ve lived, but I’ve always known they were full of bullshit. Instant gratification was never a problem for me, never until him. He changed everything. He made me look at myself and my life in a way I never had before, and he made me want something I’d never once thought would ever matter a damn to me.
It’s not like I ever had it before. Of all the conquests I took, I never once fooled myself into thinking that any of it had to do with love. My own bloody mother didn’t love me. What need did I have of love? I really believed I didn’t have a need for that bloody, fairy tale notion until him. How is that one bloody human manages to change everything?
He certainly changed me when noone else, when nothing else could. Over the centuries, I’d considered how I might one day die. I knew there was always a chance that some uppity up, lower Demon might snag me by surprise and take my place as King. I knew my own mother wanted to wear my guts as a trophy. She used to spout that love bullshit when she came back into my life, but I’ve always been able to recognize bullshit. And I swear Hell was like a pasture where cows had been kept for centuries without ever once being tended.
But again, he changed all that. He strode into my life, big and bold, the most brash, little human boy I’ve ever known, and somehow, he changed everything. He changed the way I thought about myself and my position, the way I even thought about Hell. Up until him, I’d been happy, but he did something to me. He slayed me in a way no other mortal or Immortal ever could have. He made me want something he was never willing to give.
I wonder, if I ever escape here this time, if anything will have changed? Moose probably thinks they rubbed off on me and made me want to do good. He’s naive that way. But Dean’ll know the difference. He knew it the moment I took the plunge. I saw it in his eyes. I didn’t die for the world. I died for him, and I’d do it a thousand times over even if he never loved me.
I still remember that one Summer we had together. It’s one of those few, treasured times in my life that help me block out the daily torture. I thought that was going to be enough, back then. I thought having him under my control would satisfy those needs I wasn’t man enough to admit at the time. And it was man enough. It wasn’t Demon enough, as I tried to make myself believe later.
Demons don’t love, but although I’ve been a Demon for centuries, somehow, I held on to a part of my heart from before, from before when I was nothing but a lowly, sodding tailor who had never known love a second in his life. I didn’t even know I had it, but Dean must’ve. He must have at least guessed it was there somewhere inside of me, because somehow, he found it. He woke it. He made me believe in things I never had before. He actually made me want to change. And that was when I had everything in the world I could ever want -- except for him.
So I made him like me. I changed him, made him a Demon too, only one who was lower than myself and thereby should’ve been seeking my permission and my praise. But Dean Winchester never needed anybody’s permission, even his own dad’s despite what he made himself believe where he and his father were concerned. We lie to ourselves every day. The boy was full of lies, but there was one truth I think he knew even then, and it terrified him.
Hell, it terrified me too. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. I was the ruler of bloody Hell! I could have had anything and anyone I wanted, anyone but him, and he was the one with whom I had to go falling in love. It’s not like I chose him. He damn sure didn’t choose me. For a while, when I first started feeling those old, witchcraft emotions, I thought somebody actually had managed to put a spell on me. I blamed Mum. I hunted for a real Cupid whose wings I could tear apart. I looked for every excuse in the world except the oldest one in the book: Nobody did it to me. I did it to myself.
I let myself fall in love with that boy. Somehow, I let him get closer to me than anybody else ever had been. I let him make an impact on me. I let him make me want him, and even when I had him, it wasn’t enough. When he was a Demon, for a while there, I could snap my fingers, and he’d come. We did all sorts of things together, from things that would disgust the do-goody human he later resumed being to making sweet love. Actually, it wasn’t really that sweet. Sweetness had nothing to do with it. We were like two, wild animals madly ripping at each other, because we both wanted the same thing but both also wanted dominance. Neither of us was willing to succumb to the other one.
Until I was. Until I finally realized that having him as a Demon worshipping me wasn’t the same as having him love me. That’s all I wanted just about the entire time I dealt with those boys: I wanted him to love me. I wanted that bloody hunter to choose me. Yet I knew he never would. His brother, his Angel, his family, even his damn duty always came first.
And now it’s over. Now I have no more chances to woo him or make him succumb to me. I can no longer turn back time and turn him back into a Demon, turn him back into being one of mine where my instant gratification was to grind into his bones whenever I damn well chose. He bucked there at the last, but that was his human self coming back, even if he declares it wasn’t. He didn’t like what he was becoming. He didn’t like who he was becoming, or who he was fucking, and he revolted against himself even more than he did me.
I lost him, but then I’d never really had him. I’d had his body. I’d had his dick whenever I wanted it, which had really been pretty much all the time. I had him, but I didn’t have him. I didn’t have his soul. I didn’t have his heart. I didn’t have what had made him Dean Winchester. What I’d had was only the shell of the man with whom I’d fallen in love, and it never would have been bloody well enough.
I should’ve known better than to let him go. I should’ve made him due. For a while, I did, but I couldn’t keep making due. I couldn’t keep looking into those black eyes every night and never seeing a sign of the person I loved, of the person I still love.
I wonder if he thinks about me still. It’s been so long. I don’t know how long -- I lost track a long time ago --, but I know it’s been a damn long time. It’s been too long since I’ve heard him laugh, since I’ve seen his eyes light up, even since I’ve heard him cuss me. I’d do anything to be back with him. I did do anything for him, which is why I’m here, why I condemned myself at last, why I chose to make that jump with old Luci rather than let the boys make it. I know what Dean was thinking. He would’ve jumped if I hadn’t. Like myself, he wouldn’t have jumped to save the world, but he would’ve jumped to save Sammy, and Cas.
So I did it instead. I died to bring Lucifer back to Hell, back down here where hopefully he won’t be bothering the boys anymore. He’s going to get tired of torturing me one day, and he might make a break for it then. When he does, I’ll be waiting, and I’ll ride his damn tail outta here. I’ll get back to Dean. But I wonder if it’ll be worth it?
Will he be waiting for me? Will my sacrifice have made any difference other than saving his cute ass? Will he love me at all? Heh. I really have been down here too long. Nobody’s going to love me, no matter how many times I save them. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve saved the boys; it’s just the first time I’ve died doing so.
But it will be nice to see him. For now, I bide my time. I let Lucifer do what he will to me. It’s only a body after all. It’s only another shell. It’s not like he can have my soul. It’s already taken. Wherever Dean Winchester is, that’s why my heart is, where my soul is. And damn if I haven’t become a bloody broken heart when I swore I never would, but that boy made me into hundreds of things I swore I would never be.
He made me what some might even consider to be a hero. He restored my soul, something I hadn’t had in centuries and hadn’t cared for when I had had it. But most of all, he made me love him. That’s why instant gratification was never enough where he’s concerned. I could put him under a spell or make him a Demon, make him my Demon, but it never would have been enough. Until he chooses to love me, nothing else will ever be enough. I really am damned.