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John was tumbling through time, backwards through every painful moment in his long life, the long grief filled years after Ruth, the years of brief happiness, mere moments in his journey though, it started with flashes of images, feelings and words as his soul fled back through time. They say your life flashes before your eyes before death, he’d thought it a metaphor though; not like this, not a horrible re-run of all the crap his life had thrown at him. The first time he could say he was aware of anything more than faces, words and sensation, he’d flashed in on a scene in a bar, drunk off his arse and looking for another fix before being swept out again a minute or so later, nausea flooding him with the revulsion of his actions. He flashed in again on a dirty street in Victorian London, a skirmish in the alley nearby and a familiar voice he couldn’t place catching his attention for a minute but he was whisked away before he could investigate.
A whirlwind of Industrial Britain followed, the circle, the mess of things he’d made alone before Jonas had shown up. A few years of using his limited full power, feeding, using the fey magic he’d given up all those years ago. Minutes for each, snippets of memories he’d buried or lost altogether.
He hit 1794 Amsterdam, a kiss with the witch that stole the Codex, who, centuries later, he’d realised was Cassie, before she lit up the night. He couldn’t reach out to her over his previous self’s actions before she was whisked away by another Pythia during the canal fight and he was thrown back further, into the hell his father dragged him to after his first life.
It felt like weeks; months and years of experience dragging before and behind him. Each day burned into what was left of his memory. He held her in his mind, his steadying calm thoughts during a storm he had never encountered before. She was trying to save him he realised, trying and failing, she’d never get to him here. Time passed and long moments became a handful minutes in one place, became hours as it slowed to a crawl; images of his father, trying so hard to make him more than he ever wanted to be, arguments assassination attempts followed before the jumps lengthened. He spent an overly long time wrestling away a female demon who smelt like rotting meat, trying to stave off the wanton thing desperately looking to improve herself and not caring about his consent, the tearing away of his soul after so long was a relief. He spent another hour of a fight with a nasty demon he’d offended on one of his earlier years in hell, which left a scar on him he’d never lost, pain slicing through him as he was marked before he was whisked away re-emerging as Myrddin, his first name, his last years as the innocent child he had been.
He knew it was nearing the end, this stormy road of his life, all those years he’d jumped through had she ever tried for him again? Maybe she had, but she’d missed him, chasing a shadow through time. He wondered if she knew how much he loved her, why she chased after him through hell and now time to save the undeserving. He’d never had a chance to tell her how much she meant to him and she denied her emotions so much that it bled into those around her, emotionally blind to their feelings as well as her own. There had been no time, for someone old, he’d never had the time and now he never would.
One, two, three more jumps, how much further until blessed relief? Until it was finally over and he could rest? He flashed into a monastery where he was writing down the codex, fool, he thought. Long quiet hours passed, he noticed he could influence himself, the thoughts swirling around were his, though snippets of a language he’d not spoken in centuries slipped through, his past self was in control, but he could move the hand of the body he was inhabiting when his guard was down; he could override the actions with effort, speak and even move his body a little. He’d never change his future of course, even a couple of hours wouldn’t make any difference to the time line. But he dropped the quill, hoping he could burn the wretched paper before it caused any of the issues it had in the future, of course his past self would just keep writing once his soul was gone so it was pointless, this had already happened. He stood up from his chair, forcing his younger body up and headed to the narrow window in the thick stone wall, the abbey looked out over the Irish Sea, waves crashing over the rocky beach beneath the building as a storm of rain and wind crashed against the building which had been centuries old when he had arrived. A gust of salty sea air whipped his hair back, longer than it had been in many years, as he watched the world of his past. He took time to enjoy the feel of nature to try and hold this quiet moment in a raging storm, he was in his mid-twenties when he’d taken this journey, sent by the witch covens to collect information from the remaining monks on this tiny island. He had sat here in this room for months, he couldn’t recall taking time to really appreciate the view, but he did now. What else was there to do; death was sometimes beautiful he thought wistfully. The dragging sensation of a time jump came in as he drank in the final image of an angry sea, and cold wet rocks slicked with rain and battered by wind.
He jumped in to his arms around a woman, he couldn’t remember this, but it happened every now and then when he was care free and young, when was this? How old was he? They were sat down, in a tent overlooking a battlefield and a god pushing through the world while those below tried to hold him, he definitely would have remembered that he thought absently as he adjusted to the scene. The woman’s blond hair with ridiculous mop of curls rested under his chin. If he didn’t know better he’s have sworn they were Cassie’s.
‘Your name?’ His past self’s voice croaked out, he wasn’t prepared for the response, a bitter laugh and the unmistakeable voice of an angel.
‘Does it matter now?’ He held her tight, fighting the younger man to take over, she was here for the end and he could say goodbye properly.
He croaked out the words over his alternate ‘Your name…’ His love tried to turn in his arms to look into his eyes no doubt, but he held on.
‘If it really means that much to you.’ She started to say, but he cut her off.
‘…is Cassie?’
She became still in his arms for a breath of time before struggling to turn to face him, her beautiful face was full of surprise, joy and sadness mixed together as she looked into his soul.
‘Tell me, that is your name?’ Desperation bled into his voice and his eyes and he held her to him, she was dirty from ash, which floated on the air all around them, tired from what must have been several battles and the fate of world at the hands of a god breaching the world behind her.
She moved onto her knees and held his face between her hands and with a sudden steady fierce demeanour she said all he ever wanted and needed to hear before the end.
‘My name is Cassie Palmer, and I love you.’