❝ you must have some kind of angel watching over you ❞
❝ oh, she's no angel, buddy ❞
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in which an enslaved reaper develops interest in the man she's supposed to hate
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supernatural season 1 - ?
oc x dean winchester
cov...
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SEASON 2, EPISODE 1
Mara wasn't sure if she had a brain. She knew she had thoughts, of course - how could she not? They were always there, always pestering her and raking their fingernails across her scalp. They spent all their time scrounging for her attention. There were thoughts burrowed in her conscience even then, while she pondered their existence.
But a brain. A brain was something wholly other. She supposed thoughts and brains might belong to each other, pinky fingers locked as if they were children promising to always remain friends. And yet, a friend could still endure alone. Thus, if she had no human lungs, no stomach, and no intestines and yet still spoke and moved, then her thoughts could very well survive apart from a brain. She'd been banned from it anyway, from the very moment her skin of soot was woven into creation.
She would have no individual thoughts. No will. And certainly not a life of her own. Why would the universe ever equip her with the tools necessary to grasp these things?
It wouldn't. She was a reaper. She would never live and she would never die.
Still, she would find a way. Even if it was as a puppet of the humans she was never meant to serve, she would find a way. It was her silent scream of defiance. Every time she spoke to the Winchesters, a yelp emanated from the boiling, desolate silhouette of her soul, even from beneath the chains her creator had given her. It writhed in its fury, channeling every tension-strung shout into helping the do-gooder Winchesters. And her curled-up hands that had clawed at the other reaper - this was the shrillest scream of all.
This other reaper had been her. The soot-eyed minion of death and Mara were one and the same, for all purposes that mattered to anyone but the Winchesters. They both were created and given no other choice but to follow their duties and serve Death. But since Mara had not been given another choice, she made one: abandon the service that comprised her very own essence. With her strikes against the other reaper, she had carved this betrayal in stone.
In the Winchesters, she would live. In the Winchesters, she would be willing to die. Both were much better than the fate she had left behind.
So, if Death would not give her a brain or thoughts of her own, she would create them. At the top of this list of her newfound thoughts sat a grim memory of John Winchester.
The memory wasn't old by any means. In fact, it had occurred mere minutes ago, when John had called out her name. She'd been in the In-Between with Dean when she'd first heard the call. They'd been sitting on the cold linoleum, backs pressed against the wall behind them, when Dean's head slipped to rest on her shoulder. After looking over to see that he'd fallen asleep there, she'd been so intently focused on the flitting of her insides that she was surprised her brain even registered John's voice at all.
Yet, there it was. "Mara."
She jolted, and then cringed when Dean shifted. Go back to sleep, she urged inwardly. Don't let this end.
