Bobby was miserable. He would even go as far as saying that he did indeed feel like crying, not that he would ever admit that to anyone though. It was just that when he'd closed all the books and turned off the lights and then lain in bed, he thought about (for the first time in ages) how lonely he actually truly was.

He'd been fine before that, despite barely coping with all that was happening around him, he'd been… okay, but that feeling disappeared gradually as the days went on, he found himself drinking more beer then normal, being more harsh with his words to the boys and throwing that spanner at the old rusty Ford, watching with some sort of sick satisfaction as it caused a dent.

Bobby felt like that car, like someone was chucking spanners at him, he was tortured inside out, he had dents all over his worn out soul, and he was fully prepared to hand it over to Crowley now, just so that this feeling of anguish would end, and instead it would be physical pain on his soul, something he could deal with. Or so he thought.

That night could have been any night, it had the same washed up dark sky, there was nothing unusual about it really, except that Bobby had indeed opted for his bed rather then the messy couch. He was cold as he tossed and turned, wrapping the bed sheets around him tightly hoping it would warm him up, but his efforts had no good results. His heart beat slowly as he looked around the dark room, squinting to find the bottle of scotch that he had recently grown to like, only recently though.

It was upright besides the door, which was odd, because he hadn't left it there, he'd placed it on the end of the double bed that he had once shared with his warm caring wife, he suppressed a sob as the thought crossed his mind, he was done.

Bobby Singer was done.

As he clambered out of bed to traipse over to grab the bottle he heard a noise behind him, a small male sounding cough, as if they wanted attention, Bobby spun around instinctively reaching for the gun that wasn't there…? He felt the need to panic, but that slowly ebbed away as he saw who the perpetrator was.

"Crowley. What do you want?" He growled in a low menacing voice, staring at the black shape of Crowley that he could see, watching as the man in question stepped into the light of the moon which happened to be shining through the window. He stood there, a tiny smirk playing on his lips as he cocked his head to one side, a questioning look appearing on his face.

"Why the sudden change in sleeping arrangements? And since when have you been into Scotch?" His British accent caused Bobby to tremor, the sound of something that sent shivers down his spine was not good when Bobby was attempting to get warm. He grumbled something incoherently, making his way back to the bed before falling onto it, sitting up against the headboard and staring into the darkness as he took large swigs of scotch.

The mattress dipped slightly as Crowley added his weight to it, but Bobby barely noticed he was so lost in the memories, so lost in the darkness of his soul that he forgot Crowley was even there. He just wanted…to feel her holding him…his beautiful smiling wife…he needed her…he missed her with all his being, every inch of his soul screamed for her to come back.

And every inch blamed him for sending her to her premature death in the first place.

He blanched and felt the silent tears trek down his face before being absorbed into his beard, he was tired, lonely and getting old, tears were…a mere slice of his inner pain.

"You're tired mate, aren't you? Want me to take your soul?" He faintly heard Crowley say next to him, the sarcastic sound meant nothing to Bobby, but then it came to him that he could give no answer anyway, because could you really call such a tainted 'soul' as his a soul? He had killed his own wife, he was…he felt himself cringe and a surge of tears stampede out of his now closed eyes, he couldn't even bring himself to let the word circulate his mind. It was too painful to bare.

Yes…he heard himself silently agree with Crowley, yes he was so tired, so worn out, so used up that he felt like a popped balloon. His hands shook as he slowly took a long swig of the emptying scotch, he realised he was barely containing his sobbing, and that this persistent demon Crowley was witness to Bobby's impending break down. For some peculiar reason it didn't bother Bobby all too much, maybe it was because he felt so numb, he was a fingertip away from his deceased wife's golden glow of happiness, unfortunately it was a fingertip too short.

The room began to blur at that moment, fading in and out of his vision as he swayed, breathing hard as sobs racked his worn out body, God he just wanted her back, how many times….would he be made to kill her? How many times…?

He felt an arm surround his shoulders, resting upon them in an almost awkward manner, except neither man felt awkward, because the situation was…on red alert for all participants.

It was a chick flick moment; Bobby decided weakly, nothing more then a break down of his steel barrier surrounding his mind, and it had just happened to be spent with Crowley, holding him up and rubbing his left shoulder with the arm that was swung around Bobby's back.

It seemed that for once Crowley opted to say nothing, perhaps he was having a bad day also, but Bobby never thought to ask, he was much to involved with the images that swirled around in his mind, the images that caused his entire body to shake with grief.

This man longed for death, he craved for the feeling of nothing, or at least passing on to the spirit world, where ever the hell that is, and perhaps seeing his wife again, as long as he was connected to anything here. His breathing became slower as he began to calm down, death was a…peculiar thing, he hunted those who were dead and yet longed to be one of them.

"You know? If I did a deal with you know I could take your soul as my own toy, let none of the other demons touch it….how does that sound to you?" The low rumble of Crowley's voice caused a stir in Bobby, he grunted to the man in reply, for lack of anything better to say. Although, deep down it, beneath the haze of alcohol and grief, he felt that Crowley was in fact begging him, as if he needed a friend in hell, someone to look after.

The feeling vanished almost as quick as it came, and once again Bobby's mind was full of blurry images and that feeling that he was reaching out for someone he would never get. That realisation sent his body a series of violent sobs racking through his body, he vaguely felt Crowley placing a firm hand on his chest in order to keep him upright, and there were words whispered into his ear, not that Bobby was in the right frame of mind to listen at all though. He figured Crowley was just trying to soothe him, although why he would be doing that was beyond what Bobby could think of at that moment in time.

Contrary to what Bobby thought about his soul, Crowley thought it was the most beautiful one yet, he'd never seen such an exquisite thing before, he desired to consume Bobby, engulf every single morsel of this man as he could. The thing is that Crowley also yearned for something else, he craved for Bobby to like him, it was fair to say he hated humans but the man who was breaking in his arms was an extreme exception, he had also figured out whilst he had been busy reforming hell that his relationship with Bobby was slightly similar to the one that Castiel and that moron had. Except…less eye sex. Crowley half wanted it to be exactly like their relationship, because at least then he would get to spend more time with the guy, but life got in the way as always, duty seemed to call and he was whisked away from deal to deal without so much as ten minutes in Bobby's company. Sure he liked having the power to take a soul and twist and burn it, but it meant that the day could not last long enough for either male-

He heard the 3 words which cut off his distant thoughts, 3 words that left this broken man's lips with as much passion as humanly possible, except the words themselves cracked and sizzled as Crowley coaxed them into his brain.

"Stay…with…me."

Crowley found himself panting as if someone had punched him in the stomach leaving him breathless, he let his head fall back against the headboard, a sense of resentment growing within his demonic essence. It was because of Bobby that Crowley was experiencing these emotions, it was Bobby's fault that he now had 'feelings' , he suppressed a violent shudder at this thought. Crowley, the great King of Hell had 'human feelings' wouldn't that look good in the tabloid?

"I can't….I can't do this…alone." He faintly heard Bobby's trembling voice, the sound sent chills down his spine, the thing that pained Crowley the most though was that he had already figured out who Bobby was taking to, and it wasn't him. It was Bobby's first and last wife, the one that had been possessed by one of his own kind and had led Bobby to murdering her, Bobby…was talking to his wife, not Crowley, because Bobby thought he was dreaming. Crowley felt liquid trickle down his chin, it had only just occurred to him that he'd been biting his lip, as if to hide the tears he felt for some reason, he shouldn't….this feeling was so wrong, he shouldn't be this upset over Bobby's broken words, he felt annoyed, used and more then anything he felt so unbearable alone. Crowley had never felt this far away from Bobby Singer in his short experience with the man, despite him being closer then ever at the moment, it seemed that Bobby was merely using him because…she wasn't there.

"It's…going to be alright…I'm here with you Bobby." He found himself whispering into the other man's ear, his own voice just as broken, he drew Bobby into his arms, his head resting on the top of Bobby's as he stared into the dark, gently rocking the weeping man, trying to soothe the man.

The sobs wracking Bobby's body eventually ceased, and instead Crowley felt tears splashing on his hand which supported Bobby against him, he could hear them splash, he winced each time, he found he hated this ridiculous situation, hated it like the fires of hell, because he didn't know how to react to his weeping friend…

"Crowley…?" A rough voice whispered through the darkness, the silence slashed apart and torn to shreds, Crowley tensed, he was terrified of this man, because…because he….did he really feel that for this man?

"Th- Thank you…" He could positively hear the sense of gratitude and pain in his friend's voice, the sound a low grumble that broke at the end, it sent jolts of agony throughout Crowley, how could he possibly not fall in love with this guy? But he decided with a tiny smile that he didn't half choose 'em.

He froze though, when he felt a hand cover his, the skin warm and comforting, there were no words that could quite describe how he was feeling, but he decided to go with the flow and eased into the touch.

They sat like that for the reminder of the night, Bobby's breathing soft and controlled as he rested against his demon's chest, the thoughts of death and darkness far away from his mind.