"Different"
by Phinneas McCheeser
OK, this is a missing moment from my oneshot 'Scarred.' You really should read that one first; this one won't make much sense if you don't. And hey, if you're reading 'Scarred' for the first time and happen to have a comment on it... Feel free to review! I would actually love it. Because my life basically consists of writing/school/swimming, reviews mean a lot to me. And so, without further ado, here is the story.
OK, I just lied. I have something else to say. I don't think that Halt's cabin has stairs in the books, but in this fic it does. But that's okay—it's called fanFICTION for a reason, right? Right. And now—and this time I'm serious—on with the story.
Gilan slipped quietly out of the room. He bumped into the figure in the doorway on his way out. Before he could even start in surprise, Crowley grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the room, leaving master and apprentice together for some much-needed time alone.
-Excerpt from Scarred .
Crowley pulled Gilan downstairs before he could protest.
"What—?"
Crowley jerked him into the dining room and pulled out a chair.
"Sit," he said. The anger was palpable in his tight voice. Gilan wondered, for a moment, whether it was directed at him. He decided against it.
Slowly, he took a seat in one of the familiar oak chairs. He chanced a swift look at Crowley. His Commandant was breathing heavily. His face was flushed, and his mouth was a tight line.
"Crowley?" Gilan asked uncertainly. Crowley seemed to get a grip on himself before answering.
"Yes. Sorry about that Gilan. I am angry, but not at you." He was still staring straight ahead, as if looking at Gilan would provoke some sort of anger within him.
The young Ranger nodded, a wary look in his hazel eyes. "It's all right, Crowley, but I do have to ask: What in the world was all that for?"
Crowley sighed, running a hand through his blond hair. A moment later, he shook his head, effectively destroying any semblance of neatness it had originally possessed.
"They need time alone," he said quietly. "They need to sort things out. There's more to Will than Halt told us tonight. We don't need to know all of it, but Halt does."
The two Rangers sat in silence for a moment. Finally, Gilan broke it.
"Why?" he asked softly. "Why him? Of all the people in this world, he deserved it least." Crowley shrugged helplessly.
"Fate chooses her victims for a reason," he replied, trying to maintain a somewhat philosophical demeanor. Gilan slammed a fist on the table.
"Dang it, Crowley! Don't go all philosophical on me!" He shook his head. Crowley waited patiently, aware that there was something else the young Ranger was attempting to communicate. He was also aware that it would be made known to him in time, however, and waited silently.
Finally, Gilan continued. "It's all my fault," he whispered. Crowley stared, his carefully built wall of indifference crashing to the ground.
"What?" he asked loudly. Gilan looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with the sort of pain that Crowley was used to seeing in the eyes of older Rangers. Never ones this young.
"I was the one that left them alone in Celtica," he explained softly. "If I had just stayed with them, none of this would have happened—"
Crowley was already shaking his head. "Chances are, if you wouldn't have left them alone, Araluen would have been taken over by Morgarath. Chances are that if you had done that, if we weren't all dead by now, we would be in a lot of pain." He met Gilan's gaze. They had both seen the ruthlessness of Morgarath and his minions firsthand. They both understood what would have happened to the Corps if the bridge hadn't been burned.
Crowley gave him another minute to mull this over. He was glad to see the young man taking his words seriously.
"But still," Gilan said. Crowley groaned inwardly. Just when he thought he had been making progress…
"I could have saved him so much pain."
"He would be in more pain now if you hadn't!" Crowley exploded. "For all we know, if you hadn't done what you did, Morgarath could have been torturing him right now."
Gilan shook his head. "They beat him, Crowley. They beat him."
At this, Crowley stopped with his false pretence of trying to convince the younger man that he was blameless, allowing his true worry to show through.
"I know," he said tiredly. "I know."
They sat there together for many long minutes, the same thick, depressing fog seeming to press down on them both. Finally, Gilan stood up and began to pace.
"I can't stand this anymore," he said. Crowley didn't respond. Gilan hadn't expected him to.
"I'm going upstairs," he said. This time, Crowley nodded.
"Then I'm coming with you."
Together, the two of them climbed the stairs, treading as quietly as they could (which, being Rangers, was practically silently). They crept through the hallway, stepped over the creaky board in the middle (which Crowley almost stepped on, in spite of Gilan's hushed warning) and eventually made it to Will's door.
"Halt?" they heard him say tentatively.
"Yes?" Halt responded. Crowley and Gilan drew closer.
"Thank you."
For what? Gilan mouthed at Crowley, who shrugged. They had clearly missed the greater part of the conversation. There was silence from the room—presumably Will had fallen asleep.
They inched closer, as close as they dared, until they could actually see the occupants of the room. Will was lying on the bed, fast asleep. His untidy brown hair was strewn evenly across his pillow, as if he had fallen asleep immediately after lying down. Halt was sitting at his side, staring down at his apprentice's face with a look on his face that could only be described as love. Crowley felt a rush of happiness for his best friend overcome him—and along with it, a bizarre, completely unfounded desire to laugh. He desperately bit his tongue, concentrating fiercely on the pain and forcing himself to calm down. Gilan was looking at him, slightly concerned, but Crowley made no response. Gilan gave a slight shrug.
They became aware that Halt was speaking—softly, so that they had to strain to hear his words. "I'll always find you, Will," he whispered. "No matter where you are, or what you've done, or on what terms we may be on, I swear I'll find you." And there was such emotion in the words, such caring, that Crowley's eyes actually filled with tears. He blinked them back roughly—it wouldn't do for the Corps Commandant to break down into tears in front of one of the younger Rangers at the sight of something slightly sentimental.
Halt stood abruptly, and Crowley felt his eyes widen. Gilan was tugging as his arm. He turned to face the younger man. Move, Gilan mouthed. Crowley needed no second urging. He had no desire at all to be caught eavesdropping by Halt. He set off behind Gilan, creeping quickly away from Will's room. Crowley was sure this time to step over the creaky floorboard, and to skip the third step from the bottom (which was, as Gilan whispered, "Very temperamental."). They reached the bottom stair and practically flew over to the kitchen table, where they silently regained their seats and looked at each other.
"Talk about something," Gilan muttered. They began to make small talk about the weather, but as it had been very cold lately, there wasn't much to say except for "It's been very rainy as of late," and "It's probably going to start snowing soon." Once these statements had been used, there was no use in repeating them, so Crowley and Gilan lapsed into an awkward sort of silence that stretched between them as they waited for Halt to come down.
Predictably, Gilan was the one to break it. "Do you ever think he'll be back to normal?"
Crowley sighed and studied the tabletop. He decided that the best answer would be the most honest one. "Honestly, I have no idea. But he seems like a strong lad."
"He's still alive," Gilan said bluntly. "He'd have to be."
Crowley nodded. "I think he will," he said reassuringly. He paused, then nodded and spoke, this time contemplatively rather than reassuringly. "Yes, I rather think he will. He's got Halt, after all."
"And he's got us," Gilan said absently. Crowley nodded—hesitantly, at first, then more confidently as he warmed to the idea. He liked the young apprentice, and would enjoy having him as a sort of surrogate nephew.
"Yes. He'll have us to. And with people like us, what more could he need?" Gilan gave a slight laugh.
"Of course—what more could he need?" And with that, the two Rangers lapsed into a companionable silence as the first flakes of snow fell outside. And Will would be fine, of course—after all, with such excellent friends, how could he not be?
I know that 'Scarred' was much longer and probably more exciting and well-written, but I hope you enjoyed this as well. Please review!
Word count: 1456
Again, not as long as 'Scarred,' but it's over 1000 words, so it's a passable oneshot.
Now that you've finished this, go read and review my follow-up, Defiance, which is about the details of Will's nightmare.