Gods, give me strength to overcome my selfish desire for more power than I could possibly ever use.

Crowley has a treasury full of amazing relics and tools and weapons. There's ancient magic and weird symbolic crap. 'Neptune's Trident' leans against an original Bernini sculpture. Crowley is a hoarder of unbelievably important objects.

Now, take that habit, and make it 10x worse. That's Hell's Treasury. Lucifer's finest, collected over the course of Lucifer's long, long life. Even before Hell, there was a treasury. Before Hell, there was a pile. Before Hell... One item WAS Hell. That item, that magic, now sits at the center of Hell. Hellfire, some call it. The Eternal Flame. The heat at the center of the Earth? Supposedly all collected by this one flame.

Some say it burns black. Others say it doesn't burn any colour, because it turns colour itself into ash. Crowley says that looking at it burns your eyes out of your skull faster than an angel could so no one could know if it has a colour or not.

This flame, whatever it is, wherever it came from, however it was made, will never stop burning. Whatever it touches, wherever it goes, whoever it consumes...

Eternal Flame of Damnation. The center of Hell. Hotter than Hell.

It makes my skin crawl just thinking of it. Such a horrible, unstoppable thing.

And it's in the room next to me.

Well, 'room' is a little bit of an undersell. The room I'm in has a high ceiling and big stained glass windows that I doubt has anything behind them. The images in the glass are of flame and Lucifer in several different styles. Metal benches line the safe end of the room, set against cracked stone walls. It's like the cathedral I used to hide away in as a kid. Holy ground was comforting before I knew the depths of the power in this world. Evil doesn't shy away from anything.

I also don't shy away from anything.

Except for that door at the end of the empty hall I've been sat in for the last 3 weeks. These benches aren't as comfortable as the floor. The lanterns always run out after three hours. My favourite new sweater is totally worth the itching, even when no one else sees it. And that door, simple steel, may as well be the size of the moon. It consumes my thoughts. My every movement is a reaction to that door.

That side of the hall burns to step into.

This side just makes me sweat more than I ever have in my entire life combined. Even with protective magic (thought, to be fair, I don't know a lot of magic that protects against being next to the literal Eternal Flame of Hellfire and Damnation), I feel like my skin is going to blister before the lantterns need refueling.

Every three hours, I take a break. Refuel the lanterns, dive into a cold pool, lotion my skin, and check my messages. The three weeks I've been here, I've gotten a call from someone every day, sometimes twice. It's usually Dean telling me about this new show he's been bingewatching between cases. Otherwise it's Cas telling me that he hopes I'm okay and keeping my heart full of love and goodness blablabla.

I've turned over a new leaf. This leaf is happy and doesn't try to steal the flame that, for all anyone knows, is what lit the flames in Hell. This leaf, pretty and proper, doesn't obsess over death or loss. This leaf acknowledges bad thoughts, then gently pushes them away.

This leaf sucks sometimes.

When Crowley asked me to babysit the Flame of Hell, I was like, "Yeah, why not?"

And he said, "Well, darling, you may wish to think it over as there is the high chance of you becoming fatally dehydrated within moments if that object flares, and no one is going to check on you. Ever. You will be locked in the sub basement of Hell's sub basement, where not only can literally no one hear you, not even Lucifer or His Holy Chuckness, but also no one could reach you if they wished on all the stars. Certain death. In a moment. Have you ever withered from dehydration? I think you'll enjoy it, little demi-god. Or look at the thing and your eyes will no longer be golden. They'll be puddles, boiling your brain bit by bit."

To which I responded by giggling like a schoolgirl because I momentarily forgot that I am not evil, and I do not have a need for any of the treasures in Hell...

At all...

Not even the really cool ones that I could totally use to help the Winchesters hunt!

Grrr

But at least if I can avoid that temptation, Sam will have to trust me just a little bit more, right? He's still on edge about my freak out.

I've seen how these men react to their friends and family dying or being ripped apart or both. I've seen it from their own eyes, while they slept uneasily through nightmares of memories. But, somehow, I'm the one that overreacted? No, no, of course not. They just expect too much from me sometimes.

For now, I'm waiting for my favor to Crowley to run out. One month, he'd said. One week left. After that?

Well, who knows.

Dean and Sam are in Littleton, Colorado, checking into reports of some rabid creatures unlike anything the normal human has ever seen. It stalks people at night, especially in any cave-like alcoves. It's not very large, but it can dig holes out of flesh and bone or even concrete like a warm spoon through soft serve ice cream!

Or, that's what the locals say. I'm not worried. Littleton has a coven of nice enough witches that are probably cackling about the foolishness of mortals etc etc

SO, that's what's new with me.

….I'm trying to stop feeling the way I do about Dean...But it's so damn hard. He's always been so strong and protective... He's sweet when it matters... He gives such warm, comforting hugs I swear I melt every time he wraps his arms around me. I don't want to give those up.

So I have a request. IF you ever meet Dean Winchester, please ask him for a hug. It's not likely to matter who you are; every hug from Dean Winchester is a day of rain after a long drought. Tell me you got the chance, and let me live through you. What's that word?

Vicariously

Adverb

In a way that is experienced in the imagination through the actions of another person.

Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Please give Dean Winchester a hug for me. And Sam. Gods know they need them. And so do we, let's just be honest about that. A good hug can save a life, and these men give great hugs.

Oh! That's not to discount hugs from Cas, of course. He's just emailed me my daily motivational. "Old ways don't open new doors." Thanks, Cas.

Side note: where does that saying even come from? Did somebody hear the thing about a door closing opens one of God's windows? Cause, I agree, I would rather find a door than wait for another window. Windows aren't as easy to escape through as we all dream they are in our escape fantasies.

Anyway.

Thank you for reading this update. Sorry it's been so long, I've just had literally nothing to report. I'm in a sort of...slump...I've been running errands for the King of Hell, and who wants to read a stupid blog about that kind of boring thing? I certainly don't want to write about it. I would probably fall asleep if I had to write a blog about organizing the sock drawer or a King that doesn't even need to pick out socks cause he wears the same exact thing every day. Monday socks my ass. Just grab a pair, dammit!

Er, right.

Bye for now. Take care. Remember me, your old pal Dae, while I possibly take another long break from blogging to fold socks and babysit campfires!