This is why I don't need to listen to Ray Stevens at night while tired and in a writing mood. :P I personally don't believe in reincarnation and no nothing at all about it save for the being reborn again and again part, so I probably butchered the whole aspect of reincarnation but, hey, it's just a crack fic. :) Hope ya enjoy it. :)

Disclaimer: Merlin doesn't belong to me, nor does the song "I'm My Own Grandpa", that belongs to Ray Stevens.

I'm My Own Grandpa

Merlin could remember every detail of his life, even as far back as his childhood days in Ealdor. What he remember most, of course, was his time in Camelot alongside King Arthur, his friend and brother. He could remember other aspects of his life, however, such as his years alongside Blackbeard or the time he rode across the mountains with Hannibal. Merlin shuttered, remembering the cold and the massive angry elephant he had had to ride.

The warlock couldn't remember exactly how many lives he had lived, nor did he really care to for he was sure the number was up there. As far as he could tell, he was the only one forced to be reborn again and again, each time waiting for the day Arthur would return to save Albion.

Of course, he didn't start out each life remembering who he was. One time, back in the seventeen hundreds, he hadn't remembered his previous lives until he was nearly fifty years old! But most of the time he remembered before he was a teenager. This life he had remembered at the age of ten, two years earlier then he had previously.

Currently, Merlin lay in his bed, his wife in the chair beside him, holding his hand gently as she slept. It had taken him a long time to allow himself to love again-none could match his beloved Freya-but he had discovered that he was being given another chance for a happy life and he took that. He loved his wife dearly, though he never forgot Freya.

She didn't know who he was, and he wanted to keep it that way. It would only hurt her and the kids if he were to tell her that he wasn't really dying, that he would be reborn sometime in the future to live another life. It would make things hard on her and, quite honestly, open the floor awkward questions and questions that Merlin really would rather not answer.

He yawned and squeezed her hand, as her smiling eyes opened to meet his. He knew his time had come, after all these years he had come to know what death felt like. He no longer feared it, but welcomed it, knowing that each death brought him closer and closer to reuiniting with Arthur and all those he had loved and lost over the years.

"I love you, Martha." he whispered, his voice aged and hoarse.

He meant those words. He had always feared that living multiple lives would leave him uncaring, but to his delight it only made him cherish those around him more. Though he had loved before, he loved his wife now just as much as he loved the others that came before. They were all special to him, and he made sure they knew that.

"I love you too, Jethro." she croacked, tears staining her eyes as she knew the end had come.

He reached up and wiped her tears away and smiled at her, his blue eyes twinkling and free.

"Don't cry now," he said, holding her hand once more. "We'll meet again some day."

She smiled at him, tears slipping from her eyes regardless as she whispered, "I know." He felt her sqeeze his hand one last time as his eyes closed and he fell into the silent darkness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jace ran down the driveway, eager to get home. His backpack banged against his back with each step, but he ignored it as he through the door open and ran inside, slamming the door behind him. He slipped the large backpack off and let it drop to the floor before running into the kitchen.

His mother stood at the sink, washing a bucketload of apples. She turned and glared at him playfully, causing her thirteen-year old son to blush as he knew what was coming.

"What have I told you about slamming doors, Jace?" she admonished, her eyes smiling at him despite the frown on her face.

"Not to." Jace muttered, sitting down at the counter.

His mother chuckled and tossed him an apple which he just barely managed to catch. He smiled at her and slipped out of the chair to go outside to visit his favorite spot on their farm. He bit into the apple, a large crunch echoing through the house as he walked out of kitchen door.

"Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes!" he heard his mother called out.

Jace didn't have far to walk to reach the small family cemetary. Every day he walked their, just sitting and reading the names on the headstones. His family was buried here, aunts and uncles and his grandma and grandpa. He went to them now, crunching on his apple.

He had never met his grandparents, them having died a few years before he was born. His parents had told him all about them, of course, but he still wished he had been able to meet them. His other grandparents still lived, though, so he knew he was lucky. Some of his friends at school didn't even have a single grandparent living.

He bit into the apple and a loud crunch echoed through the still air. Jace gasped as the scenery seemed to change, fading from a well-lit cemetary to a dark ruined castle courtyard. Seven men, six dressed in chainmail and armor and one in servants clothing, walked slowly, as if fearing whatever hid in the dark. All carried swords, swinging them around madly as a crunch sounded. A man with long brown hair raised a gloved hand, apple in hand. "Sorry!" He muttered through a mouth full of apple.

Jace gasped again and stumbled backwards as images pounded through his head. He fell to his knees as the truth hit him: they weren't images, they were memories. A laugh sprang from his lips as he began to remember everything, all of his lives. It was several minutes before the memories finally eased away and he was able to look up once more. His eyes fell on the tombstone of his grandparents and the smile faded as he read the names "Jethro and Martha Stevens."

"You've got to be be kidding me!" he muttered, rising to his feet.

He turned and ran back to his house, ignoring his mother's call as he slammed the door behind him. He skidded to a halt in the living room and looked up at the picture of his grandparents. A groan escaped his lips as he looked at the picture of his grandfather, a white-haired and -beared old man with bright blue eyes.

"I'm my own grandpa." Merlin moaned, shaking his head. Only him. "Well this is awkward..."