We know each other. Or at the very least we know of each other. It’s not like we’re part of a special club, go to a bar every Tuesday night, give birthday cards or gifts to each other. For one, considering who we are, that either would be very expensive or very confusing. For another, we don’t all like each other. I mean, if time allowed it, some of us would hate each other’s guts. But you can’t live for so long and not appreciate someone else who sticks around as long as you do. Or, alternatively, pops up every now and again and just knows who you are and what you’ve done… and what you will do.
True, the doctor and Jack have some strange kind of eternal awkward acquaintance thing going on. At one point they had a mutual friend, back when they were mortal, but some sort of drama went down and now it’s just the two of them for the rest of their eternal lives.
Then there’s Bastian, who, if I’m going to be honest, I don’t think is all there. For all that his kind are meant to be both magical and long-lived, that spell he’s under… or rather, curse if you ask him, is pushing it rather a lot. There’s a difference between a two century lifespan amongst others with the same longevity and a millennium of being the only one around.
Then Nyx and Michael and Azrael well, they have duties which put them above humanity so they’re actually designed for immortality. Though the next generation is going to be a real doozy from what I’ve been hearing.
As for me? Well, I’m only twenty three, and at the rate I’m going, I’m unlikely to hit thirty. But thanks to this stupid malfunctioning pocket watch I’ve played the doctor and Jack’s go-between for centuries, I’ve walked alongside Bastian throughout the millennium, and I have been pulled into more arguments of which angelic or demonic department is better than a priest could handle and still be sane.
I haven’t been back to my timeline in five years–five years for me, anyway. I miss it. I want to go back, but I can’t. And if you ever read these… I hope you know that I’m sorry. I’m still mad that you doubted me, but I understand why you did. I’m mad that you think I’d go evil so easily, but I am sorry for abandoning you during that last battle. It’s not like I had much of a choice, but I’m still sorry.
A/N: My unreliable narrator OC–the time traveling Leanne Peridot who was once a teenage vigilante until her mystical pocket watch malfunctioned during a fight against some villains and bounced her around time. She’s just mentioning some of the various immortals/cursed people she occasionally sees.