All you really need to know to understand this is that I roleplay as Gavin on tumblr on a daily basis. And my favorite Crowley, the mun's name is Lani, and I decided that her Crowley would be the one Crowley who takes pity on his lost son and tries to take him back under his wing. However, Crowley has very vague memories of being human, having had most of them (all of the happy ones) tortured out of him when his contract expired, and he only vague remembers drunkenly arguing and violence against his son.

Gavin still seeks Crowley's approval and when Crowley offers him the chance to become a crossroads demon, Gavin denies him stating that he cannot morally agree to corrupt human souls after watching what happened when his father sold his soul. He then proceeded to tell Crowley that if he really wanted his son's soul, he would have to torture him into submitting.

And Gavin requested Crowley torture him himself.

He couldn't recall how precisely it had come to this. 'This' was of course, sitting in what looked like a cell located somewhere in God only knew what level of Hell it was. The fact that he had agreed to come here at all was a miracle in and of itself. Spending three hundred years avoiding reapers at every corner only to willingly hand himself over to the King of Hell. Either he was finally resigned to fate or he was incredibly desperate. Or incredibly stupid.

Normal lost souls didn't behave like this. If they intended to avoid reapers, they did so for all of eternity. And if they did finally decide to give up, they let the reaper put them in their place. They didn't just waltz right up to the first angel or demon they could find and demand to be stuck in the first place they would fit. Like the missing jigsaw piece in a puzzle that had been lost under the sofa for years.

Of course...Gavin was the exception to every normality. He hadn't been trapped on Earth for refusing to accept his death. On the contrary, he was more than aware of just how dead he was after the appearance of the first reaper that had tried to move him.

He could recall being chased throughout the museum for what felt like hours on end, ducking corners and pressing his back against the wall, eyes darting back and forth frantically only to have the reaper find him again. He could recall the confusion of finding that he wasn't out of breath or the least bit fatigued from the whole ordeal and that no security guard had come running at the sound of unfamiliar voices in the museum after hours. The reaper had prattled on about how no one would ever hear him again and how running away wasn't solving anything. Gavin had politely told him to shut the fuck up, slowly backing away from him until his back was pressed up a large glass case. The reaper had stared him down and with no further options, he had done the first thing he could think of which was to quite literally spit in its face, the water most likely a result of the fact that he wasn't fully aware of having drowned. The reaper had screeched angrily at him before grabbing him, and all that the Scottish boy could recall in that moment was his vision going white and the most excruciating pain he'd ever felt in his...existence?

He'd woken up, he didn't know much time had passed, on the floor beneath the case with a searing pain in his chest that had lasted for what seemed like days. It still acted up on occasion, for that matter, when his energy felt drained. If Crowley looked at him hard enough during his little 'sessions' he'd probably find some sort of scars on his son's soul or something. And at least a few others from another three out of the six reapers he'd encountered in his ghostly existence. But he wasn't going to warn the demon about them right off the bat. He wasn't going to give him something to use against him, or negative memories to shove back in his face. Could a torturer manipulate one's memories as a ghost along with their memories of life? He didn't have the heart to ask (no pun intended).

That case he'd passed out in front of he would later come to recognize as the one containing his ring; a golden band plated with the MacLeod family crest on it. He had hated his family, more specifically his father and everything the bastard stood for. Yet on the anniversary of his father's death he had found himself awkwardly accepting the family heirloom from his mother and trying to pretend he hadn't secretly observed whatever the fuck had invisibly attacked his father and killed him. He hadn't tried to intervene, afraid that whatever it was would go after him next but needless to say the experience had been...scarring. If only the bastard hadn't told him about the damn deal to begin with. Lazy no good drunk he was.

But rather than shove the metal scrap in the back of a drawer and trying to forget all about the old drunk, he found himself wearing the damn ring a few days later. A part of him didn't want to forget no matter much he insisted otherwise. He and his father had done nothing but clash on every subject imaginable. And perhaps, if either of them ever chose to be honest with themself, it was because they were far too similar in personality. And Gavin hated to think that they were anything alike, because he sure as hell was not an alcoholic. But underneath it all that when the tailor was actually sober it became more apparent to Gavin that he sounded just like him.

And after having three hundred-something years of thinking about it, he had come to determine that it wasn't that he hated his father. Part of him was just angry at him. Angry at being ignored unless the old man wanted someone to blame everything on. Angry at being told he ought to follow in his father's footsteps when he wanted to be someone else. Angry at his father for selling his soul to fucking demons never mind the deal was for. And now he was angry that his father was the goddamned King of Hell. He couldn't even fathom how a two-bit drunken tailor had become the King of Hell. He had trouble seeing Crowley in that light. If he looked him in the eyes long enough, which he tended not to do for the very reason that he could see right through the vessel to what was left of his father's soul, it angered him even more. Specifically because nothing was the way it used to be. The two of them meeting up again one a ghost the other a demon, three-hundred years after death, was against the natural order.

But if he was completely honestly with himself, it wasn't just anger that he felt. There was fear. And sometimes even the anger was overriden by it. It had nothing to do with the fact that Crowley was the King of Hell, it was his father overall that scared him. And for the life of him, for all the time he'd had to reach his first conclusion, he still didn't know why that was.

But he supposed it didn't really matter if Crowley was just going to find a way to torture the answer out of him regardless of whether or not he knew. And part of him wanted to be tortured for the simple fact that it gave him an excuse to tell him everything for once without hiding behind his ego. So even if he ended up unable to morally agree to Crowley's terms and ended up being erased from existence forever, at least the demon would know the truth.

He sighed, the sensation of being able to breathe for the first time since 1723 a rather odd sensation, his gaze remained on the wall, unfocused.

There were only two ways this could end: badly or very badly.

These drabbles I write are separate from the RP itself. Meaning they canonically are written and have happened, but these were only written by me in Gavin's POV with any references to Crowley made with Lani's agreement.

RP accounts:

Gavin: .com

Crowley .com