Chapter 15: Life for Life

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

I waited at the rendezvous point for nearly a day. I wanted to wait longer, I would have waited longer. But I couldn't run if they found us, not with the boy. He was still shaking. And he needed food. If he was still alive, Crowley could take care of himself better than this kid. So I did what I thought my father would have done, picked up the boy and headed for home. I stole another car when I got to the first town, I didn't think the boy could manage a week of walking.

With a car we got home in eight hours. The boy hadn't said a word. Just sat in the car and shook. I wondered if they had been feeding off his soul, I wondered how much of him was left. I pulled the car into the garage and lifted the boy from the passenger seat. He clung to me. I took him to the kitchen and set him on a chair. He stared at me with big, sunken eyes. I turned away from him. He and I might be spending the rest of our lives together. I didn't want to start that out by letting him know that if I had known what the choices were, I would have left him behind. I didn't even know if he was whole.

I made some food and set it in front of him. He stared at it for awhile then set into it like a dog. When he was finished he looked up and me and, shaking, held out a tiny, bony hand.

"I'm Ethan."

I shook his hand, "Bobby."

He looked down. "You saved me."

He had a very serious little face, tiny scowl over his deep eyes, turned down corners of a thin mouth. "I'm sorry about your friend."

I flinched, "It isn't your fault, Ethan, and he might still be okay." His eyes were so much older than they should have been, I couldn't imagine what he had seen.

"Ethan, are you okay, I mean, did they feed on you…I mean…did they ever cut you and take out blue light?"

He shook his head but tears started leaking from his eyes. He crumpled, pulling himself into a ball, his head on the table. "It's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault."

I stared at him, I wasn't sure what was happening. This was the first child I had ever interacted with. Did they normally do this?

I touched his shoulder, "What's your fault, Ethan?"

He looked up at me frantically, tears running rivulets down his cheeks. "Can I have more dinner?"

"Uh…yeah ok," I gave him some more food and watched him devour it. I wondered how much they fed him. Then, his face fell onto the table, dead asleep.

I sighed and hoisted him up. I carried him to a bedroom and deposited him on the bed. I started leaving then thought for a moment. I turned back to him and pulled off his shoes, then I left. Letting him sleep alone.

XXXXX

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

He was a strange little guy to have around. He was nearly always silent, slinking through the bunker like a four foot tall shadow, but sometimes I could hear him crying, and sometimes I could hear him shouting. I understood, really. I had gone nearly mad when I had been alone, and Ethan had been so much worse than alone.

I tried to focus on taking care of him, but I missed Crowley. Missed him especially when I slept alone. I could stay busy during the day, target practice, or cleaning, or reading. But I couldn't forget he was gone when I curled up and no one's heart beat under my ear.

In the morning, I was making breakfast for myself and Ethan, I had never had to cook for anyone else before Ethan, it felt very domestic.

Ethan appeared in the doorway, he was wearing some clothes I had found that were almost his size, a big shirt and pajama bottoms I had torn off at the right length. I shuffled when he walked.

"G'morning," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, he climbed up on the stool, "What's for breakfast?"

I gave him the reconstituted eggs and cereal, "Food that can't spoil."

He pushed at it with his fork, "You should go after your friend."

"I can't leave you here."

He made his little tiny scowl, "Why not, Bobby?" he said, hitting his little fist on the table, it was still too bony. "It's safe here, you said. So give me enough food and go and look for him."

"I'm not doing that."

He scowled, "Why not?"

"I could die, Ethan, and then you'd be all alone. You'd have to grow up alone here."

He stood up in his seat and leaned over at me, "I'll be okay!"

I pushed him back softly and touched his hair, "I grew up alone here, Ethan, and I'm not doing that to you." I leaned down and kissed him on the top of the head.

He leapt up and threw his arms around me. "Thank you, Bobby. I don't want to be alone."

I left. I didn't want him to know how hard it was for me not to put food in a bag and take off after Crowley. I couldn't stop the thoughts of him bleeding out, alone on the highway. Or being held in the claws of a Hellion, his soul being pulled out of his body. Or his demon essence, or spirit, or whatever it was that he had and they ate. But the madness of growing up alone had touched me deeply, and I didn't want to inflict that on a little boy I had just saved. So I stayed.

I stayed and taught Ethan how to shoot, he didn't take to it naturally, his body was so small he kept falling over when he shot. I taught him how to find food in the wild, and how to strip food from old cities. I gave him a claw knife and told him to keep it with him everywhere he went, to never let it out of his sight.

Sometimes I sat with him for hours in the library, and we read, or I read to him, and sometimes he read to me. Then, in the evening, I'd order him off to bed. Then I'd make myself tea and crawl into the escape hatches. I crawled all the way to the exit by the door and look out over the highway, hoping for Crowley's return. I'd stay awake as long as I could, then sleep, curled up in the shaft. But Crowley never came.

It was two weeks into my nightly vigils that I began my day trips. I didn't want to leave Ethan, but I was restless. Maybe if Crowley had just died I would have been alright, I had survived death. But he could be bleeding, crawling his way toward home. Would he have come after me? It was my fault he was dead. We had saved Ethan, that was worth something. I didn't know how I was supposed to compare one life to another. Was Ethan's life worth more because he was a child? I wanted desperately to believe that I would exchange my life for Crowley's, but how could I justify leaving a child in his care? I had survived death before. I had not survived being the cause of death.

So I started my trips around the edges of the Bunker, looking for tracks, listening for movement. There was nothing. He was gone.

XXXXX

From the Journal of Bobby Winchester

It was in the third week of searching. Crowley had been gone for over a month. The prospects of his survival were beginning to look grim. I was outside, I had brought Ethan with me. His dark hair was getting shaggy around the ears, I ruffled it.

"We'll trim this tonight, if you want." I said to him.

He looked up at me. He had started wearing glasses from the Bunker, reading glasses I thought. He said he used to wear glasses but they had broken when he was taken. These were the best I could come up with. They magnified his eyes and made him sort of look like a soft brown bug. I was pleased with my care for him. His cheeks were less hollow, he was less bony. He was looking much softer.

"Ok," he said, "Can I cut yours?"

I laughed, "Sure thing, kiddo." Because who cared if I looked ridiculous if he had a good time. It wasn't as if there were anyone around to see me. "Ok, kid," I said, shoving him on the shoulder, "Go out, find us dinner. Be back before dark."

I had started doing this sometimes. Making sure he could fend for himself. If I got killed I wasn't going to set him up to starve to death. He ran off, tripping slightly in the leather wrapped shoes I had made. Eventually I would make a drive for the nearest town, grab some stuff that would fit him. But not until I was sure he would make it if I never came back. I sat on the ground and leaned against a tree. I didn't want to go with him, so that he could rummage for food on his own, but I made sure I could still hear him. It was easy, there was no noise other than his little messy feet.

I closed my eyes, the sun was sparkling down on me, the heat felt nice. I snuggled closer to the tree and listened carefully to Ethan's footsteps. I had been listening for fewer than ten minutes when, to my right, in the opposite direction of Ethan, I heard footfalls. I leapt to my feet, dagger in my hand. I started maneuvering backwards. I needed to reach Ethan but never take my eyes off the direction of the other noise. Hellions weren't going to take him away from me too.

I reached Ethan and hissed, "get behind me, something is coming." His eyes went wide and he slid behind me, clinging to my jacket. I crouched, shielding him as widely as I could and waited. The footsteps were coming closer, I readied my knife.

And Crowley broke into my line of sight. I gasped, and dropped my knife. I let out a wounded shriek and launched myself forward. It might have been embarrassing but he, upon seeing me, had dropped the knife he had been holding let out a noise like a hyena. I gripped him like a hallucination. The embrace he returned was painful.

"I thought you were dead. Crowley, I thought you were dead. You're not dead. You're not dead." I muttered into his shoulder.

He pressed his head into my hair, "I keep my deals, love." He was alive.

But he was not uninjured. Little spurts of black mist were leaking from a wound in his shoulder, blood soaked through his shirt.

"Crowley, your shoulder." I touched near it, feeling the blood on my fingers.

"Oh, noticed, did you?" He grimaced, but smirked at me. "I see the boy turned out fine."

"Yeah," I gestured behind me but didn't take my eyes off of Crowley, "His name's Ethan."

"That's lovely, kitten, but they followed me, we need to get back to the bunker."

I leapt away from him, sliding in a jolt into action. "Ethan, come on" I seized his hand and began to go back toward the bunker. I wanted to sprint but Ethan was tiny and Crowley limping. I could hear the wings. Perhaps I was imagining it.

We made it to the door and scrambled inside, the boys in, I pushed the heavy door closed. Then I looked at them. Both of them, safe in the bunker. I let out a single, victorious laugh then I turned to Crowley.

"Come on, come to the library, I'll patch you up."

He followed me to the library, where the light was the best and sat, groaning when he did. I had to cut his shirt off; pieces of it were sticking into the wounds. He tensed as I pulled the strips of fabric out of his torn flesh. I cleaned the wounds and stitched them closed. He grimaced as a I worked, clenching shut his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Crow." I murmured as I finished stitching and starting putting on bandages.

He looked up at me through half clenched shut eyes, "For what, Kitten?"

"Leaving you. I should have come looking for you. I should have-"

He cut me off with an incredibly Crowley sneer, it made me smile, "-done just what you did, darling. I would have left the kid, Hell, I never would have gone for him."

I secured the last bandage. "You're all patched up." I said softly. I was so relieved he was back, a lightbulb had been replaced in my brain.

"So, Ethan?"

"Yeah," I said, he got up from the stiff backed chair and moved to one of the much preferable couches. I joined him, putting my head on his good shoulder, he dropped an arm around me. I listened to his heartbeat.

"Did he tell you anything?"

"No…why?"

He turned his head and looked at me, "Kitten, I think there may be something we should know about him."

I glowered, "Stop being needlessly vague and threatening, Crow, just tell me."

"The Hellions caught me, love, immediately, but they let me live so I could lead them to the boy. They want him desperately. We need to know why."

A sniffle came from the doorway. I lifted my head from Crowley's shoulder and looked over at Ethan who stood in the doorway, eyes magnified by his glasses, glistening with tears. He took one look at Crowley then looked away.

"It's my fault, Bobby." His whole body was shaking.

I stood up and went over to him, kneeling before him. "What is your fault, Ethan? What happened while you were a prisoner?"

His mouth was quivering like he was choking down real sobs, "I took them back."

I frowned, "Took them back where?"

Crowley was standing now, behind me, Ethan continued, stopping occasionally to sharply inhale. "They didn't have any food, they needed food, so they took me and made me. I didn't want to, Bobby."

I brushed his hair back, "It's ok, Ethan, I know, I know."

"I took them where they could find more food."

"Where, Ethan, please."

He let a heartbroken sob escape, "I took them back in time."

AN: I hope you all enjoyed, heads up NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO BE A THRILL RIDE! It should be up probs tomorrow night.

Also, I have an idea that I don't know if anyone will be interested in, but if there is anyone who writes fanfics (or anything) that would like to form a coalition (I mean that in the least serious way possible) to give really detailed and (constructively) harsh critiques for each other and help each other develop our writing please PM me. Or throw me a message on my tumblr VoteKingCrowleyFanfiction blog/votekingcrowleyfanfiction

Thanks for reading!