I don't pray much these days. Somehow, even though I've fought beside the actual, physical proof of God (or a God, at least) my faith has slipped. But now, sitting at Harry's bedside, with him too unconscious to protest at being brought to a hospital, I pray.

I don't pray for his recovery. He always recovers eventually. That's part of the problem.

Dear God.

Why did you have to make him like this?

Hard and unyielding and so foolishly brave. Why couldn't you have made him … soft?

Why did he have to be a thing of hard edges, biting words, and scorching fire?

Why did he have to be born in a crucible, with flames licking at his sides?

Why did you have to put him in a world that needed him?

Why did you convince him he needed to fight until he broke?

Why is he the immovable object against the night?

He will rage and rage until he shatters and you already have a pantheon of heroes, your Knights and your saints and your martyrs, your soldiers marching to die. Why can't I have him?

You made him a creature that even Death couldn't stop, but I know his pain, the thousand chips and cracks and hurts, and above all, his fear.

You made him a man that fears himself, and I can't forgive you for that.

It's selfish to take him away, but he'll give everything to this world, to the people that need him, until there's nothing left but dust, a footprint where the hero used to be, and then those people will shout and cry in anger because their hero was human after all.

No one wants their heroes to be human.

I need him, so damn the world that needs him too.

Damn the world that takes and takes and takes, that pours salt on his wounds and deepens his scars.

Let him be mine. Let him be happy. Let him be free.

Please.

Harry stirs, one eye cracks open, his lips quirk into that cocky half grin, and he says, voice croaky and rough, "We got 'em Murph."

I smile back, caught in that … it's not adrenaline, not after the fact. Euphoria?

We lived. We got 'em. And we'll do it again.

And damn me too, because I wouldn't have him any other way.

I love his courage and his kindness. His unending hatred at injustice and his fierce loyalty to those he loves.

I pray to Let him be mine, though he already is.

I have fought by his side too many times to count and somehow I wouldn't change a moment.

So damn me too.

...

A/N - I came up with this when I was reading Changes again and came across this line, "I will make Maggie safe. If the world burns because of that then so be it. Me and the kid will roast some marshmallows," (which is where the title came from btw) and found myself wondering if Murphy ever felt the same way about Harry whenever she saw him get hurt. Sort of, fuck the rest world, lets run away to tropical rainforest (because Mab obviously won't be able to survive in a rainforest, right?) and hide out and not get hurt.
Of course, neither of them would ever do it, because their both fighters and too stubborn to ever give up, but she might just entertain the thought, because it's hard to see the ones you love get hurt, and Harry gets hurt a lot.