Chapter Text
Kenneth watched the pathway to the Witches’ house with rapt attention. This time of year, with its crisp, earthy-scented air, always woke his senses. He loved it for recalling him to an older time before his transformation, even as he cursed it for reminding him of his failures. He still hated himself every day for what happened to his friends and his family; but he supposed it was worth some celebration that his tireless devotion to this Hallows Eve vigil meant something. Three hundred years and untold attempts later, and no foolish virgins had accidentally succeeded in returning the Witches to this earthly plane.
Three hundred. Fucking. Years. His tail twitched at the unpleasant thought. Was this to be his fate forever? Was he to outlive everyone? Everything? Kenneth cast his eyes heavenward. Even the stars?
The idea was nigh unbearable. Immortality without insanity was difficult enough to maintain NOW- without people and evolving cultures to distract him, the task was impossible. What would he do without a kind hand to scratch behind his ears as he passed on the street? Without the chance to laugh at everything the History Channel got wrong about his time period, and all those since? It didn’t bear thinking about, so he took to examining a spider crawling nearby instead.
Kenneth Binx had not been left behind by the times. He watched as the popularity of printed materials rose, and learned to read something besides The Good Book when people left it out where he could see. He got fairly dexterous with his paws over the centuries too. (One had to, really, to get by.)
Then came the radio.
TV
THE INTERNET.
So, yes, Kenneth Binx kept himself very busy when he wasn’t watching the Witches’ house, or catching or foraging or begging for food. He felt it worth spending the time to learn history and languages (though actually speaking them was more difficult- it had taken him a long enough time to work out how to make his feline vocal chords create human sounds.)
Yes, far too late, Kenneth eventually re-learnt his ability to speak. It was too late to explain himself to his father by several decades, and after that he had sense enough to know he could never show anyone. Especially with how the world had been changing...
And Kenneth knew all about that, through observation, and because he'd also learned to read books and newspapers. He watched TVs through people's windows, or on the armchairs of various kind, lonely souls over the years. He watched cooking shows and singing shows and documentaries about faraway places. He'd taught himself how to use computers, when there was one available, with some passing success... He did everything he could to remain sane and quick-witted and mentally capable, honestly.
Kenneth sighed. everything and anything, he thought numbly. He batted at a nearby leaf the wind whirled his way. Oh, God I'm so fucking bored. Kenneth snorted indelicately, thinking of how appalled his contemporaries would be with his current manner of expression. But like the printed word, discovery and technology, the world's norms had moved on, and Kenneth had moved with them.
He studied each new time period's culture, keeping up to date on slang and trends- he was always fascinated to see the trends that fashion and music cycled through, and the periods of social awareness and callousness that rose and fell in each age.
He’d had plenty of time. All the time in the world. And no one to really fucking share it with.
Kenneth had spent more of his life as a cat than he ever had as a human, but he still FELT very human. An unfortunate side effect was that he had no desire to court any of the cats that had approached him over time. On good days he could let himself laugh, thinking of what Stan and Kyle would say about the second biggest whore in the village on a 300 year dry spell.
(On bad days? Well. On bad days thinking of them wasn’t possible at all.)
The point remained, nonetheless, that he was basically 300 years’ worth of riled up now, and it was like a vague, bothersome itch he had gotten used to ignoring. Much like other, more painful, less pleasant urges that cropped up now and again…but the less said of those, the better.
Simply put, the first hundred years had not been this easy. And a fair deal more bitter, furious, isolating, and self-destructive. He tried not think on those dark times, before he’d found his purpose, watching over the old Sanderson homestead.
Kenneth’s eyes continued idly following the spider, and he briefly considered pouncing, but decided against it. Spiders could be decent practice for his reflexes, but unless someone made an attempt on the house, tonight was all about silent watching. He trained all year, kept himself sharp all year, for this night.
He ate well, he trained himself to be dexterous and healthy, not counting on immortality to keep his body from becoming decrepit from disuse. He learned about the world and each new wave of people in it. He twisted his curse to its very limits, determined that being forced into a cat’s body didn’t mean he wasn’t still human at the core, with real human feelings and motivations for his mission. It had taken a long time before he accepted how important that was. It had taken him even longer to think of ways to keep his humanity alive.
Finally, after years of distrust and bitterness over what the villagers had done the day of Karen’s death, Kenneth understood that he needed people again. He scratched the wood of the house’s sill, now, remembering how hard it had been to force himself to walk back into the town that had failed Karen and kicked him away. He waited until his father died before he set foot there. If there were any nephews or nieces by his brother Kevin, Kenneth never knew them. It hurt too much to see what he’d missed.
So, slow as it was, he eased himself back into the company of people. It was two generations before he returned to South Salem, but he wandered to other towns in the meantime. He accepted affection from the people kind enough to house him for a night or two, and observed how they spoke and thought, how they showed the people around them care. He watched families (with his heart in his throat) through their kitchen windows at night. He did anything that kept the memories of his own humanity alive; anything to help him remember why he didn’t just lie in gutter and wish for a death that was never coming.
He'd long since forgotten most of who he had been- was he funny? Was he kind? Was he anything at ALL anymore besides a conduit for turning evil magic to a good purpose? He didn't know. He hadn't had a soul to speak with in three centuries now.
The loneliness made Kenneth restless. So, besides his other pursuits, he also took the initiative to travel a little. He had seen something of the surrounding counties; but never gone much further- he could not risk being detained from his annual vigil over the Sanderson property.
Because those the other things-human interaction, education, all of it- were only distractions. They only served to keep him sane, keep him sharp, for what really mattered. But tonight? Here? This was everything. He didn't have the right to be "bored".
This was his mission, his penance, his curse. Protect the town. Protect the world. Be the watchful protector they all needed- the one he'd failed to be back when Stan, Kyle, and KAREN had needed him.
It was all he was good for.