Adelina looked up at the sky, blinking rapidly as the raindrops splashed on her nose and droplets dripped into her eyes. She didn't really care, no one would be able to see the tears of frustration that were streaming from her hazel eyes. Her car had run our of gas a mile away from the gas station and now she was walking there in the pouring down rain, just to get the tow truck. She turned her attention back to the dirt road she was walking down. What a bad day to wear flats, her shoes were flooded. Not only that but she had forgotten her jacket at home. Still, the rain brought her comfort somehow, especially after seeing him today.
She wiped her hand across her left eye. Damn it. Why did I do that? My eyeliner is probably smeared half way across my face now. Dear god, if Danny could see me now... She sniffed a little, hoping that she was nearing the gas station and dreading it at the same time. She didn't want to be seen with eyeliner running down her face, she was pretty sure she looked like a drown rat. Just my luck... I wish that would improve. Just once.
"Look I-- It's--" Alastair takes a shaky breathe. "I'm a monster. You never saw one but I am. And I h-have to do this, I have to, because if I don't then everything's going to just--" Why can't I breathe? "I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry but I have do. It's what I do isn't it? I'm a monster; I fuck everything everything up, but you should know that I-- that I'm sorry and I regret and I love you." Alastair nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I love you."
Avery, Avery, Avery… She was just another human, sins written across her soul just like everyone else’s, ones to read and interpret and exploit. She’s one of the few who doesn’t hold as many, that’s true, but even the Angels sin sometimes, and one human girl is no different.
He offers her his drink, because offering alcohol for people’s problems seems like something people do, and she refuses like the bright little soul she is, but he’s hung up on the way she seems settled. There’s something about it… She fears him at first, like she should, like he expected, and he doesn’t intend to become intellectually attached to the puzzle of her head, he really doesn’t, but he’s fascinated. She’s not afraid of him, she’s not afraid to talk back to him, she buys him hot chocolate for Lucifer’s sake..
There’s something about her that reminds him of Meg, at first, her blind hopeful optimism she used to have about pleasing him. She wants to get to know him, this Avery girl acknowledges that even demons have emotions. Such a peculiar thing… Later, after this remarkably strange girl has grown comfortable with him, invited him into her car, she reminds him of M. It’s the shine of her, he thinks later, the way she was so bright that she could make inconsequential all of pain.
The man touches, and it reminds him of things long past, and she doesn’t care that Alastair is willing to kill him. She just asks him not to. She’s kind. She has an undying optimism that even the rage of his past cannot seem to destroy to utter pieces. He doesn’t know what to do with that, but he knows he wants it to stay. She’s so upset, and he doesn’t know what to do with that either, and it’s some human instinct he thought long dead to protect her. He can’t help her with that war inside her head that she seems to be raging, but he can make an asshole leave her alone.
She cries when she tells him, as if she’s barely even whispered it to another living soul, as if acknowledging the thing that brings her pain can make it more painful. Acknowledging pain can be catharsis, he knows, and even though she can feel all of these things about him she is still not afraid. She doesn’t blame him, even though she could, and there’s that sense to protect her still, his intellectual invest, and somewhere between talking of Hell and his sister she became his closest confidant, his only confidant. What if he loses that? What if he looses the only thing that has ever seemed to truly care about him since God crafted his soul?
She hates herself, hates what she’s become, what she can do, what it does to her, that much is obvious. She’ll do anything to avoid what she feels is pity, what she feels is his sense of obligation. He doesn’t pity her, sympathize, maybe, empathize, well how can he really… She’s so angry. So intent to destroy any offer to help because she’s proud, and stubborn, and he doesn’t owe her anything but she sleeps in her fucking car…
He’s not sure how it happens, really. One minutes she’s a stranger, and in the course of a few hours there’s an alarming sense of affection and a determination buried within him to make her survive. Survive what, he’s not sure, but she will survive it, but she needs to survive this first. Half of the souls he’s ever met, he knows this would destroy them in seconds, and she’s still standing, still feeling and thinking for herself and that is strength. He tells her as much. He’s not sure anyone’s bothered to tell her how strong she is before.
He knows that allowing weakness can be strength too. She wants to make herself the foundation for the world, forgetting that foundation is the most obvious part and the strongest. Maybe it’s the warmth of her head under his hands. Maybe it’s her determination to make him breakfast in the morning. He’s not sure he can see her leave. He’s not sure he wants to.
