Chapter 1: Crowley

Crowley stepped into the bar and carefully shut the door behind him, trying to keep out as much of the driving wind and rain as he could. He lowered his hood and ran a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The quiet murmur that pervaded the tavern was a stark juxtaposition to the raging storm outside. About half the tables were filled and the roaring fire at the front did wonders, already starting to dry his soaking cloak. The barkeep caught his eye and subtlety nodded to the figure at the dark end of the bar. Crowley nodded his thanks and made his way over.

He sighed. Seven empty mugs surrounded the man, an eighth halfway gone in his hand. Must be pretty bad this year.

The commander perched on the seat next to him and couldn't help but look at the man sadly. He hated seeing his friend like this.

"Halt."

The man grunted and glanced in his general direction.

"Whaddya want Crowley," he growled.

"Oh lots of things," the commander mused. "A bigger house, bigger budget for the corps… for you to stop drinking for the night."

Another grunt.

"Don't always get what we want, do we." He downed the rest of his glass and waved for another. The barkeep brought it over, but Crowley swiped it before Halt could take it.

"Thank you good sir," he told the barkeep, who wisely nodded and returned to work.

"Gimme that Crowley," Halt said, making a pathetic grab for it. Crowley simply shifted it to his other hand, moving the glass farther away from the already drunk Ranger.

"You aren't messing around tonight, are you? What is this, hard ale?" he asked and took an experimental sniff.

"Crowley, please." Crowley's heart broke. Halt shouldn't sound that broken, that desperate.

"You've had enough Halt," he replied gently. "What was it this time?"

He didn't answer for a moment, head now buried in his hands, elbows on the counter. He sniffled.

"It was Will," he said finally. "Wasn't feeling too good today anyway. Heart didn't feel right, tight 'r something. He mentioned… an old mission? I don't know. Next thing I knew..." He gestured helplessly at the empty mugs surrounding him. Crowley lay a supportive hand on his shoulder which he gratefully leaned into before succumbing altogether to face Crowley and rest his forehead on his friend's shoulder.

"'M tired Crowley," he slurred.

"I know," he replied softly.

"Tired of losin'- almost losin'- people. Almost losin' myself, you," he added. "'M tired of carin'," he said finally and sighed, such a world weary sound.

"So am I," Crowley said gently, running a hand down the back of his friend's head. "But I don't regret it. And I don't think you do either."

"No," Halt said, voice catching slightly.

They stayed like that for a while, Halt staring emptily into space while Crowley simply grounded him, a firm hand tracing circles on his back.

Eventually, Halt blinked and lifted his head slightly.

"You ready to go?" Crowley asked. Halt nodded. The redhead silently waved the bartender over and paid his friend's tab before helping him to his feet. He kept a firm arm around his shoulder as he led him from the warmth of the establishment out into the freshly washed world.

The rain had let up, leaving a deeply cleansing earthy smell hanging in the air along with a scattering of mist. The sun's last rays lit the way for them as they stumbled their way back to the castle; Halt could stay there for the night, no need for Will to see him like this.

They took the back way in, avoiding as many people as possible and it was a relief when they finally arrived at the right room.

Crowley helped his friend out his cloak and boots and into his bed, where he was out in seconds. Nothing like a good nap to shake off a bout of existential dread.

Pauline walked in just as he was heading out. Her eyes grew sad, yet so filled with compassion as she looked at her sleeping husband.

"Was it bad this year?" she asked him.

"Pretty bad," he whispered. "But not the worst. He'll be fine. He always is." She nodded and stood there for a moment, musing.

"Thank you Crowley. I'm not sure if Halt's ever told you, but he appreciates you doing this for him."

"I don't mind," Crowley said truthfully. "He's my best friend. Least I can do is be there for him. G'night Pauline."

"Goodnight. And thank you again."

He nodded and gave her a slight smile before taking his leave back to his own room.

He flung his cloak on a chair with contempt and kicked his boots off in frustration before sitting heavily on his bed, head in hands, leaning forward. He clasped his hands together in front of his mouth and tried to hold back the tears, wishing he could just do more.

Caring was exhausting.

But he didn't regret it.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed/cried.