When Crowley woke in the middle of the night, sheets tangled around him and face gleaming with sweat and tears, it was always Sam there to comfort him. It was Sam who held him and murmured that it was going to be okay, that he wouldn't always feel so wretched and awful. Crowley doubted that, the hunter's aborted attempts to "cure" him had left him broken, trying to come to terms with the memory of centuries of deals and torture and murder. Sam tried to tell him that he understood, that he knew because he'd struggled the same way when the memories of his year without a soul came back. Every time Crowley just dismissed him, one year was nothing in comparison to a lifetime. The former King of Hell had forgotten what it was like to even feel remorse, or anything so human. Eventually Sam gave up trying to relate and just sat with him, rubbing his back and listening to the confessions. As much as he had hated Crowley in the past, something about seeing him so broken, so human, struck a chord in him deep down. Knowing that this was entirely his doing didn't help. So he listened, he even managed to hide his disgust most of the time, though he never managed to hide the guilt whenever the hellhound was mentioned. Apparently Crowley was a real dog person.
"Why?"
Sam jumped and looked down at the quivering man in his arms. It had been weeks since Crowley had said anything that hadn't been a confession or helpless plea for it all to go away.
"Why do you care Moose... uh, Sam?" The ex-demon croaked. "I did so many awful things, you've heard so many awful things, so why do you still come?"
Sam paused, furrowing his brow a little. He hadn't really thought about it, it just seemed like the right thing to do, but how to explain that was beyond him. He gave Crowley a baleful smile, free hand twisting in the sheets.
"Because..." He started, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Because, I'm the Marnie to your Hannah."
Sam smiled to himself, pleased to have remembered that fragment of Crowley's ramblings. (He would never admit to having started watching the show though, not ever.) His face fell again when he looked down and saw those eyes, broken and wet with tears. He pulled the smaller man in tighter and rested his chin on the top of his head.
"I forgive you." He whispered. "And you can call me Moose."
Crowley nodded, a tiny sob escaping him. "I just wanted to be loved."
This time Sam said nothing. There was nothing that needed to be said. He merely held tight, the simple action saying everything he never could.