damned_institute | Day 69: Male Showers

Probably not the best idea Gabe had ever had. He jerked his hand back a little, but when Murphy recognise him the Archangel hesitated and then rested it back where it had been. "No, I'm sorry," he said, chagrined. "I should've known that would startle you."

He smiled, gently but a little crookedly, tilting his head. "Want to tell me where you were? Maybe I can help bring it a little closer."

Murphy didn't shy away from the touch this time.

"I was...in a bad place," he admitted. "It's this..." he gestured vaguely to the shower room, though he meant the institute entirely. "How it knows. It knows what hurts you the most and it knows all your deep fears and regrets and all of that shit. And it plays with them. I...I spent the last 24 hours thinking my son was alive and a teenager now. And my wife still loved me and was still my wife. I mean...I wasn't me and they weren't them, exactly, but..."

But Gabe knew the whole story. Murphy didn't have to try and explain why this was so shaking to him, why it had threatened to undo him all over again.

"I...I could remember...I can still remember it, even though I know it's all bullshit. It doesn't matter because I remember Charlie growing up!" He turned pain laden eyes to the younger man, the tears coming now though mixing with the water from the shower.

Murphy's broken words, the devastation radiating from whole of his being, brought tears to Gabriel's eyes. It wasn't fair. Of course it wasn't fair. If life was completely fair, it would be orderly to the point of stagnation, to the point of sterility.

That didn't mean Murphy's pain was any less heart-wrenching.

"No, it doesn't matter that it wasn't real," he said softly, holding Murphy's gaze. "But isn't that the point? You have memories of Charlie growing up that you didn't have. It doesn't matter that Landel was just using them as a tool to hurt you. They're yours. You have a few more years with your son than you did two days ago."

He smiled, watery and soft but gentle. "I'd rather think of that as a gift."

"But they're not real."

That made it worse. It was a dream, a fantasy, a sick reminder that Charlie hadn't been given a chance to grow up. It had been painfully ripped away from him. The memories were a mockery of Murphy's life, of everything he'd lived through. He couldn't see them any other way.

He shuddered and swallowed thickly, the hurt and anger rising in him once more.

"That...that kid I remember isn't my son."

There were a lot of things Gabriel could have said, things which crowded his tongue. Things which were, ultimately, meaningless right now. Murphy's pain was too new, too sharp. It was very rare that the right words could be found to change a mindset in a situation like this.

Yet, Murphy's words demanded an answer. "How do you know?" Gabe asked simply instead, his thumb absently and gently stroking the back of the man's neck. "Landel draws in people from all many universes. How do you know those memories aren't real, for another version of you? Does the fact they could be make them worth keeping?"

It was a genuine question. A genuine question, because only Murphy could decide that--only Murphy could decide how much he could accept them over his hurts.

Murphy shook his head.

It wasn't an answer, really, more a denial of the question. How could he figure out something like that? It was...existential. Beyond him. He only knew that he had someone else's memories in his head, and he didn't want them.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "It...that guy isn't me. That family isn't mine. It's like te plot of some bad movie, you know? But it's all lies. Lies they put inside my head! They put what they wanted into my head, Gabe. That's..."

He didn't know how to explain how wrong that was. It was a violation of his most personal self, but he didn't quite have the understanding to express that. There was a taint to the memories, beyond just the subject of them.

He was right. He was right, because that was an intrusion and a violation which no one should have to experience in any fashion, and in light of that Gabe could understand why Murphy wouldn't be able to find any brightness in those memories at all.

The edge in his voice, the near-hysteria, the indication of that edge Murphy was on--it twisted Gabriel's gut with helplessness in sympathy, until the only thing the Archangel could think to do was to step forward and pull the other man into a rough hug.

"I know," he whispered, the embrace almost tight enough to be painful. "I know."

Murphy just sniffled, closing his eyes and letting Gabe hug him. He wasn't up to returning it, but that didn't matter. He needed a hug. Even now - and as though he'd never had another guy put an arm around him during shower time. Prison had worn away any cultural protest he once may have had to being naked and hugged by a similarly naked man.

And he needed contact. He needed to remember that he still had some things in his life that weren't utter misery and hopelessness. It was just harder than he ever thought it could be. He lifted his head only to be beaten down again and again and again...

"I hate this place." He leaned his head against Gabe's shoulder with a heavy sigh. "I don't...I don't want to play Job anymore."

Gabe laughed. He couldn't help it. He laughed and his chest clenched and it came out teary, understanding, and ironic. He'd seen Job. He'd seen every single wager his Master and brother had every undertaken in the course if history. He'd walked beside every single one of those Champions, and ached for them.

If he thought it would have helped Murphy, he might have even admitted who he was--what he was. But it wouldn't. It didn't make a difference, knowing there was something larger out there, when one's pain was all so fresh. Sometimes, it made things worse.

The Archangel squeezed Murphy a little tighter. "I could probably say something extremely philosophical and world-changing here, but what would be the point of it? I can't change what you've had to endure. And I can't say that there's a purpose behind it, even when there is. Because sometimes there isn't." He thought of Joby and his light, and the millions of people his acceptance of the wager had rescued from nuclear war. He thought of Lot and Lucifer's irrational hatred of the man, until he had sacrificed two of his own cities just to try and get rid of him.

"But I trust there's a reason," he said softly. "It's not always a very good or a very nice reason, but there's always a reason, and when there's reason there's potential for things to change. If you can just hold on for long enough. Or ask someone to help you hold on. There's nothing wrong with that, either."

Murphy didn't know why Gabe was laughing, but he didn't care. It wasn't like he was being laughed at.

"I don't think I care anymore. About...a reason or anything like that. But I'm angry. I'm pissed off and I hurt and I never care about much when I'm like that." He sniffled, acutely aware of how tired he was. But it was true. Right now he didn't give a damn what reason there was for any of the torments he'd suffered. His pain overwhelmed him, it always had.

All his nightmare adventure had done for him was allow him to accept that Charlie was gone, and that his own revenge had been an empty and selfish gesture. Those weren't even cold comforts to take with him into the night.

"God, I don't know how you put up with me. I'm a pretty miserable son of a bitch, huh?" He pulled away then, wiping his wet eyes and swallowing thickly. It was his own way of asking for that help, because he knew damn well he couldn't pull his soul up out of the gutter on his own.

"You're not that hard to put up with." Gabe let Murphy pull away but smiled at him, gentle but warm and with tears in his own eyes, on his own cheeks. Sympathetic tears. "You're worth it, anyhow. I've been around long enough to tell when people are worth it, and you are."

If he wasn't, he wouldn't feel so deeply for what he'd done. The danger lay in his not caring; at that point, Lucifer will have won. If Gabe could save Murphy from that ...

The Archangel reached out to squeeze one of his hands. "Would you like to pray with me? Or I can pray for you alone, if you'd rather."

Because he would, either way. He just thought Murphy might like the chance to do so for himself ... even if it was just to rail at an apparently absent God. Sometimes the outlet helped.

"I'm glad one of us thinks so."

It was hard, not to be self deprecating. But if Gabe wanted to think so, Murphy wasn't going to argue. He wanted to be worth something. To someone, anyone. He could hardly remember what that even felt like.

And praying sounded oddly comforting. He'd been trying, more and more lately.

"Why don't you start us off?" he asked, not sure he could bear to address God on his own right now.

With a smile Gabe clasped both of Murphy's hands in his, without breaking gaze. "Our Father in Heaven," he said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the patter of the shower-water.

"In Your name I pray for Murphy Pendleton. Help him find the courage and will to continue in spite of what he has suffered. Let him feel Your love so he may know that it is eternal. In the difficulties Murphy must face day by day, here in this Institute and whatever life he has afterward, may he know that You are watching, regardless of whether You might be seen or unseen. Help him bear his sins until such a time he is ready to ask forgiveness. Because when that time comes, I know he will already be forgiven."

The last line was said quietly, half as if an aside to someone Gabe knew very well and was sharing a knowledge they knew which others might. The other half was said directly to Murphy himself, as encouragement, as faith that he would be forgiven. If he only asked.

Day 69: Male Showers

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject