Just playing around with Merlin's immortality here. Hopefully, it's not too bad.

In retrospect, the modern-day world wasn't the worst.

They were much more accepting of all kinds of people, regardless of class. If Merlin tried, he could probably be one of those snotty government officials, or be the head of some huge corporation.

But no, he was fine with doing odd jobs every here and there. It gave him lots of time to think.

Think about how Arthur and Gwen and Gaius and Gwaine and the rest of the knights would think if they were here now, about how happy he'd be if that happened, about how it probably wouldn't happen because he'd failed destiny and Arthur was dead and he couldn't save him and everything was just too much too much TOO MUCH and-

Maybe time to think wasn't a good thing, after all.

He could probably make money appear with his magic, or easily rob a store or a bank, but he didn't. He'd never do that. It wasn't fair.

So he kept living this nondescript life with this nondescript job and his nondescript apartment.

Technology was booming nowadays, and Merlin didn't mean those irrigation ditches or wagon wheels. No, there were actually electronics, powered, not by sorcery or magic, but by electricity. He didn't exactly know how they worked, but he did know that they were extremely useful for many things, like communicating with others without having to write a letter or be in their presence.

Not that Merlin had anyone to actually talk to. He had had a few acquaintances over the many many many years he's lived, but he could never let anyone get close.

If they knew who he really was, he'd probably be put into a mental asylum or something like that. ("You know that really powerful old sorcerer with the really long white beard in the Arthurian legends? Yeah, that's me.")

And maybe a part of him still clung to Arthur. Nobody would ever live up to his brave, strong-willed prat of a best friend.

Those blue eyes and his blonde hair still haunted Merlin at night. Sometimes, instead of thanking him right before he died, he begged for Merlin to save him (but he couldn't). Sometimes, he survived, but burned Merlin at the pyre after learning about his magic (he could just feel the flames licking on his body). Sometimes, he came back as a ghost, blaming Merlin for all the bad Camelot had suffered (Merlin already knew it was his fault). Sometimes, all he could see were faces: Arthur's and Morgana's and Freya's and Finna's and-

Nope, he wouldn't think about it.

He could survive to the next day, the next month, the next year, the next decade, the next century if he just. Didn't. Think.

While he didn't use his magic to gain an unfair advantage over others, he did use it to help others. Maybe that one lonely child by the corner would suddenly find a candy in her pocket. Maybe that single mother he saw at the grocery store would go home, smiling at the sight of the blooming flowers in her untended garden, flowers that probably shouldn't exist, but no matter. Maybe that one innocent child who he just knew was being abused by his father would suddenly find the police knocking on the front door, claiming they had actual evidence to arrest the man and leave his wife and child in peace.

He'd do anything for them to be happy.

He'd do anything for Arthur to be happy, too.

And it all came back to him, didn't it? 'Cause after he died, Merlin didn't know what to do with himself. Their destinies had been intertwined, his whole existence had been based on Arthur, he had done everything for Arthur.

What does one side of a coin do when its other side disappears? (It doesn't exist.)

And Merlin's just tired, after waiting waiting just WAITING...for something that may never happen. He just wants the waiting to stop.

Maybe. Maybe this time he'll actually do it. He looks at the sunken eyes in the mirror, and the disheveled dark hair, and the scarily thin body that's his...and then he leaves. Doesn't bother with a coat or anything. Just runs to the nearest bridge overlooking the peacefully blue water, 40 feet below.

'Cause he's thought about it before, hasn't he?

When his body aches and just won't STOP, and he actually has to take one of those painkillers, he wonders what would happen if he just took one too many. Would it hurt? Would his body just purge it back up? Would it even work? When he holds his razor in his hand (which means, like, every six months, at the very least), he wonders what would happen if he just slipped a little, how easy it would be to cut his wrist and watch the blood bead and flow out. How long would it take for his body to give up ('cause he knows his mind already has)? How long would it take for people to find his body? Would anyone even care to look for him? And sometimes, when he's taking a quick shower, it turns into a long one as the faucet isn't the only thing leaking liquid; he wonders if he could just suffocate or drown right there and then. In his death, would he see all of them again? Or would his magic just resuscitate him? Would it be worth it?

And Merlin still doesn't know the answers to any of that, because he had been too afraid to try. Too damn scared that, if it worked (he still doesn't know the full extent of his immortality), if it worked, Arthur would rise without Merlin by his side, and he wouldn't dare hurt Arthur like that (Everything was about Arthur, wasn't it?) or leave him defenseless like that in this new world. He wouldn't do that. Ever.

He could hurt and punish himself, but nobody else deserved it. Not even Morgana.

So now. NOW. Merlin just laughs humorlessly as he sits on the bridge railing. It's late, and barely anyone's out to see a stranger tumble to his death.

Maybe he would find happiness in the next life (if there is one). He had been suffering for far too long here, and he's resigned to the fact that Arthur won't be coming back.

He could end all of this.

He just has to let go. A tear slides down his face as he closes his eyes.

He finds peace now. He has never been a patient person, and waiting all these years for something that may never happen is not exempt from that.

He takes a deep breath.

He feels the cool night breeze on his wet and feverishly hot face.

And.

Then.

A firm hand wraps around his right arm, and his breath hitches as his eyes flutter open in surprise.

"A lovely night out, don't you think, Merlin? Though I don't think I'd spend it planning to jump off of a bridge. Honestly, how stupid can you be, you idiot?"

But there's no real heat to it. Just concern. And now Merlin's shaking so much he can hardly register as those same arms gently lead him away from the edge, tears cascading, one after the other, down his face. He hears Arthur (Is it really?) sigh as he sets them both down on the pavement, rocking Merlin back and forth, back and forth, like a child, as he struggles to comprehend what's happened.

"Arthur?" he asks, barely a whisper, hardly daring to believe or hope.

Arthur lays his head on Merlin's, and murmurs, "Very well-spotted, Merlin." A pause. "I don't know what I'd without you." And Merlin realizes he really did mean the second part, despite all the times he's jokingly said it before, and it causes him to cry again, ugly sobs wracking his body and snot everywhere as he turns to hug Arthur as tight as he can.

He feels Arthur's arms tightening around his back, patting it awkwardly as Arthur says, "Stop acting like such a girl, Merlin."

It's the normality of that that causes Merlin to slowly laugh the tears away. He thinks that, maybe, he'll be okay.

He hasn't thought that way in a long time.

So when Arthur ruffles his hair and stands up, offering a hand to Merlin, he takes it without hesitation. It's only later that he realizes Arthur has no idea where he's going, and that they're probably the weirdest-looking pair to ever walk these streets, what with Arthur's chainmail and armor and Merlin's less than healthy appearance, people probably think they're drunk cosplayers or something like that.

But none of it matters.

Because Kilgharrah had said that Arthur would rise again when Albion needed him most.

But Albion had never needed him. Not after Camelot faded away into legend.

But Merlin, the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth, had.

And that had been enough.