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Gerry steps out of the club, not entirely of his own decision. He is well aware of the slight supernatural tug, but years and years of experience told him to follow the Beholding's lead when it calls. So he does. It leads him towards a tall man slouched by the side of the building, dressed in all black and smoking a cigarette. The neon lights reflect on his glasses and hair in an almost artistic way. He's a demon, Gerry Knows. Incidentaly also the most interesting person he's seen this evening, so despite what one might call a survival instinct, Gerry approaches him. The guy doesn't so much as turn his head at the newcomer and just keeps staring into the distance.
"You're a demon, then," says Gerry. The guy does move his head then, and despite the sunglasses (and people might wonder, who wears sunglasses at night? but Gerry's seen weirder things, and doesn't question it) Gerry knows he's staring at him. He blows out a gust of smoke and doesn't say anything.. Then he shifts on his feet and extends a hand.
"Anthony Crowley," he says. Gerry tilts his head but accepts the hand all the same.
"Gerard Keay." They stand in shared silence, contemplating fate and other questions, great and small.
"Can I have a cigarette?" Asks Gerry. Crowley shrugs and pulls a pack out of his coat.
"Those things will kill you, you know," he says with a grin more closer to a grimace. Gerry nods and he lights one up anyways.
"At least it'll be my decision," is his reply. Crowley nods.
"Lucky," he says. Gerry hums. They stand in silent understanding again. Crowley finishes his cigarette and lights a new one.
"You're one of the fear people." Not a question. Gerry still answers.
"Not by choice."
"Me neither. Never asked for any of this." Gerry wonders how bad it must be to be a demon. He's never met one, untill now anyway. Maybe it's not about being the demon, but how one becomes a demon. But Gerry doesn't know, the Eye doesn't tell him and he doesn't ask. He wouldn't want to be asked this, he thinks.
"God be fucking us all over, eh?" He tries to lighten the mood. Crowley snorts.
"You have no idea."
"I think I might. I've got a mother who thinks she's one, anyways."
"Can't say I relate. But then again, God is the closest thing I have to a mother, so... To shit mothers who thinks they can meddle with your life. Cheers." They aren't drinking. Gerry mirrors the toast.
"To the illusion of free will." Crowley regards him with his head slightly tilted to the side, and Gerry thinks he might be intrigued by the answer. Then the demon huffs a bitter laugh.
"Humans suck." Gerry knows.
"Yeah."
They stand together in silence untill their cigarettes burn out, temporarily comforted by the presence of someone who might just understand. Then they part their ways with silent nods and wishes for the other to have better luck than them. Knowing neither will.
Years and years later, on a work trip to America, Crowley learns of the death of one Gerard Keay. He prays for the first time in centuries. Asks Her to keep watch over his soul, asks for him to finaly find peace. She doesn't answer. And he knows that people like him never do.