entrancelogs | Well this life can be such a devil

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Well this life can be such a devil

Who: ~~Gadreel~~ Gale Shurley and YOU!
Where: The Shurley Bros residence, the animal shelter, and probably some bar
When: Oct 24-28
Rating: TBD, PG to start
Summary: Gale Shurley isn't exactly pleased with his life, but he's about to find out it could be a lot worse.
The Story:

Oct 24th-26th
The evening of the 24th happens like most of his evenings do. Once he has an awkward dinner with his son, he cracks a diet soda and tries to relax for a little while before he heads to sleep. This time, however, he makes a special effort to try and flag down Caston for a conversation.

Waking up on the 25th, for Gale Shurley, feels a lot like waking up from some sort of coma. He feels a little more alive, less like the mindless zombie he was yesterday. He resolves that he's going to try to mend things with at least one of his older brothers, and a recent drop-off at the clinic gives him the perfect opportunity. He heads over to Luke's place once he's finished his shift, the large snake coiled around his arms. When he returns home, he has more questions than he has answers.

The 26th is a more difficult day at work than he's had in years. A young girl comes in with a kitten too young to have left its mother, a weak thing that will obviously not survive. The girl looks at him with wide, bright eyes ... and when he takes the kitten in his hands, the creature lets out a sigh of relief. It calms, and it looks -- stronger. Despite his first instincts, the kitten improves throughout the day. This phenomenon repeats itself several times, and Gale swears he catches the image of wings in his shadow more times than he can count. More disturbing, however, is the blood that he feels is drenching his hands...the images of his hand on his son's face in a touch that is far from gentle.

It's easy enough that night to key in a text message to Damien. He needs a drink, and a friend who isn't going to be too judgemental of him. Damien's never really been the sort to think badly of anyone, even if it's because he thinks he has no room to judge.

Oct 27th
The images of him taking the life of his son have become too much to bear. Instead of heading to work, Gale heads to a quiet spot in town to grab a cup of coffee and think ... but he eventually sends a text to Daniel, asking him to meet him at the diner.

The boy deserved the truth, didn't he?

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"I somehow doubt Dean will ever view demons as anything but disgusting. Or angels as anything more than cruel. His life is sometimes so black and white, but I imagine that is how he prefers it. Life is simplistic thatt way and he isn't left with questions of morality."

She pulls away, finding a perfect red rose within the garden. Gently, she plucked it, smelling it lightly.

"Perhaps Sam could speak to Kevin first? Sam knows how to empathize."

He did not know much about what the Mark of Cain would do to Dean, but he couldn't help but think it might at least put things into perspective. Gadreel shrugs, watching her move throughout the garden.

"It may not be a bad idea. If nothing else, I am sure Sam speaking to him will help Kevin."

Lilith nods, finding a white rose as well. It was still in the process of opening, but beautiful and without blemish. She glanced behind her at him, considering so much of what he said since he arrived here as well. And what they shared.

"And you? Do you brood over it all alone?"

"There was a time I did not." He thinks about his camaraderie with Abner, about the way the other man had comforted him ... and about the look in his eye when he murdered the angel and his vessel.

He hasn't told anyone else about that death. Perhaps sharing it would be beneficial.

"But that time is over. The one friend that I had in all of Heaven -- he died at my hand. At Metatron's behest."

"I don't know anything about what happened after my death. If you want someone to impart this knowledge to, you have it in me. I am not a likely candidate, but I shall not judge you." She said, going back to him, offering him the red rose.

"Who did Metatron have you kill?" Aside from Kevin, but she won't raise that matter, not now. Her hands trace over his own, looking down at the flower thoughtfully.

"You bear it all alone now?"

It is bizarrely comforting to know that she likely will not judge him, if only because she has done the same and worse than him.

He takes the rose between his fingers delicately, glancing down at the flower.

"Any of the angels that did not join him when they were asked. And -- Thaddeus, the prison torturer. I think that death was supposed to endear me to Metatron." And the death -- it had felt good at the time, but it had driven him to think he was doing the right thing.

She could remember Dean's glee at finally to turning the blade on a victim. The day the tortures stopped. It was a way to gain loyalty, to give the victim a place to focus their rage. Violence once honed, could be channeled under the right hands.

"You relished that moment." She guessed. "It is a source of your fears. That you could be a monster. She understood. It was how she started as well. She was expected to be a monster, so became one.

He shouldn't be surprised that she knows exactly what he was feeling in that moment. She's been through the same, if what people tell her about demons is true. He nods, running his thumb over a thorn on the rose until it brought bright red blood to the surface.

"I should have questioned it. There was no reason for Thaddeus to be in the way of Metatron's plans -- but I wanted so badly to make him suffer for what he had done."

"Rage and hate are entryways to corruption. It's why demons feed on it and make deals with those in pain. Megatron knew your weakness. It is what tactician does. He wanted you to be vulnerable. It was about his aims. You could have been anyone. Even Castiel."

She watched the blood, curious and drawn. What did angel blood taste like?

"He was foolish. He let his emotions fuel his plan. In this, you must be detached. Uncaring about it all. You make less mistakes."

You might want to keep that particular curiosity to yourself, Lilith. He sighs, though, the drop of blood welling on his thumb the easiest thing for him to focus on.

It is true -- Metatron had tricked Castiel, in fact, even if he hasn't shared that knowledge with anyone here who might not know. That doesn't make him feel all that much better, though.

"That is the part that is easier said than done -- and I do not know if being truly uncaring will bring me to the correct path. Most things must be tempered by compassion."

"Show me compassion and I may agree. I have never experienced in my life. Not from Heaven or Hell. I only know corruption and cruelty. It was what I was made for. Show me." There is a hint of bitterness in her voice. it had been a word she heard so often, but never experienced. How fortunate the angels must feel to experience it.

"Metatron needed you though, in one way. You were stronger in many ways, including in faith."

It had been a long time since he'd been shown compassion, before Castiel. He'd been convinced that Metatron had been trying to show him compassion at some point, but that had proven false.

He turns to Lilith when she speaks, then, wiping the drop of blood on the sweater he's wearing so that he doesn't get it into her hair when he brings a hand up to it. No matter what images the motion brings to his mind (her dress is on the floor, his hand is tighter in her hair than it is now), he makes sure the touch is gentle.

"I will do my best."

Despite attempting to appear cold and aloof, she finds herself leaning into his touch. There is a moment when she can remember kisses, embraces and gasps in the night. The feeling of his warm skin and her body melding against his own. The lust is replaced soon enough with the gentleness of his touch and the softness of his voice.

"Gadreel," she murmurs his name, reaching to place her hand against his face. He scares her in a way that other angels don't. They destroy, they fight and kill her kind. Him, on the other hand, he could change her into something she never believed possible. He could make her redeemed. The demon in her fears that more than anything...if it was possible.

"I don't know what I am capable of. Or if I am able to be better...but I could try."

When he first spoke with Lilith, he remembered something that was not his thought or experience. It was Sam Winchester's, an attempt to cure Crowley of his demon blood.

He remembers it again now, resolving to ask the hunter about it even if he's sure that Sam would rather just never see him again. He owes Lilith that much, a second chance that he himself could give her. He lets his head tip into the light touch of her hand.

"That is all I ask."

Without thinking (and probably with a lot more courage than she should feel), she closed the gap between them, kissing him again, as she had the night they had forgotten who they were.

The fact he accepted her touch at all encouraging this action.

He is no longer that man, Gale, but that does not mean her kiss is unwelcome.

It does mean that he draws back quickly from it, however, his brows furrowed in confusion.

So few touches that have ever been pleasant ... and there is a part of him that knows Lilith should not engage in such an activity with him. It would compromise his position with her, trying to guide her.

She flinches as he pulls back, familiar with rejection and believing (somewhat falsely), that it's because of what she is. She averts her gaze, keeping herself from making any comments that could be considered harsh. It wouldn't help matters and he's still interested in seeing her helped.

But there's a part of her frustrated at the constant views of angels that she is nothing but evil. Not that it was unwarranted, but nothing about this was her own design.

She steps back, granting him space. "I should go," Lilith says, not wanting to, but wanting to run before he tells her to.

Gadreel swallows firmly and licks his lips, watching her move back. He reaches a hand out to stop her from turning away, not wanting her to leave while she's upset.

It's risky, he knows.

"Not quite yet," he says quietly. "I -- do not want you to get the wrong idea, Lilith. You are -- a beautiful being, and your touch is not unwelcome. I simply do not want your -- attempts to become better to be rooted in wanting to please me. You must do it for yourself."

She gives a small scoff, look at him with a shake of her head. "A beautiful being?" She waves her hand, dismissing the entire compliment. "You see my real face and you know how distorted and disgusting it is. I am monstrous and hideous, as Lucifer intended. There is no beauty in what is an affront to God."

But she didn't want to make him hate her. She didn't want to lose her only champion, the angel that thought well of her.

"My attempts were made for myself." She tells him honestly and softly. "I had no way of knowing whether or not you would be pleased. I desire you the same way that I did last night. That at least wasn't an illusion."

"There is good in you, and nothing that Lucifer did to you can cover that up completely. No matter how much he desires that to be so." He's pleased to hear that she is making her attempts for herself, but he is still -- hesitant.

"It may not be wise," he admits, although he finds himself not wanting to. "But know that the evening is not something I will think of with anything but fondness."

She wants so much to believe him, but can't be sure. The demon in her growls and glowers, tightening her stomach at the idea. But the humanity in her mind wants so desperately to touch that goodness that he claims she has.

"I don't know," she said, leaning closer towards him, seeking his touch. "But maybe it's better that someone sees it in me. I can almost believe I can achieve it."

She nods, "It's far from wise. But I want you and I want to be that person I found those last few nights. The one you helped me discover."

She's the one who has told him in the past that he should try and temper himself despite how he might be feeling. Now may be one of those times.

"Then you will be that woman," he says quietly, letting his fingers trace down the curve of her jaw gently. "But for now, I feel ... we should process the events of the past few days. To find good meaning in them, if it can be found."

He's definitely not just using that as an excuse because intimacy makes him uncomfortable. Nope.

He's afraid, or at least so he seems. She nods, allowing him to caress her as he does. Finally, she steps back from him. She looks at the flowers, remembering that soon she'd have to talk to Lucifer. Or at least to see if he remembered everything as well.

There was a lot to sort through, a number of others that needed to be spoken to.

"If you are asking for time, then you know you have it. We are immortal. I have no intention of forcing your hand in anything."

It's wise of her to approach his reaction in the way she has. He nods only a little tightly.

"Of course. It is -- appreciated." And with that, he moves to take his leave. He's hurried, undoubtedly, but at least the stone in his stomach has dissipated.

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Well this life can be such a devil

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