From personal experience, the first time you cry yourself to sleep in someone's arms, you don't tend to forget it. I was fortunate enough to have someone like Halt alongside me. Someone who wanted to take my pain from me as much as Halt did for Will. I had suffered in silence long enough. I thought that it would be too heavy for someone else to carry with me. But I was wrong. Sometimes the kind of Love that chooses to carry something too heavy for someone else is the best kind of Love you will find. Hope you enjoy. If it's weird, i'm sorry : ) review if ya like. I always enjoy seeing what people say : )

PR

Will could feel he was dreaming. Like he was awake, but still not conscious. The horrid in between where reality and dreams blur together in some sort of eerie underworld. It was so real. The blood and the horror and the screams. The awful sickening aloneness that strangled him in his nightmare. He thrashed in his bed, awake, but still not conscious. And then Will was awake, staring into the darkness, eyes wide, panting, trying to catch his breath.

Will sat up and crossed his legs. He wrapped his arms around himself and leaned forward. He was shaking and could feel the cold sweat that had soaked his clothes and sheets. The cold sheets were tangled around his legs. Will grabbed them and kicked, desperate to free himself. After a short struggle, he freed himself and stumbled out of bed. Will ran a hand through this sweaty hair. Need water, he thought. He felt the need for water like it would somehow wash him from within and clean out all the dirty memories.

Will eased his bedroom door open and stepped out into the dark hallway. With the skill only a Ranger could have, he ghosted into the living room, then into the kitchen. By memory he found a candle and the flint next to it. His hands shook as he lit the candle. He watched the flame waver, It moved like his soul, flowing in and out, gone, and then back again, burning bright, then almost snuffed out to nothing.

Will shook himself out of his trance and found a cup, filling it with cool water. He took a slow sip. Will watched the candle light dance on the walls. It was almost like it was mocking him. Mocking his humanity and his finite soul. A pressure started in his chest. A slow even squeezing of his insides. Will watched the water in his cup ripple as his hands started shaking. The pressure continued to build.

Slaves, barely dressed and blue with cold huddled together in filthy straw. Overseers, barely better than slaves themselves came around shoving a bundle of warmweed into the mouth of each slave. It entered his mouth and he felt the warmth spread through his tongue and down into his body. He closed his eyes and melted. Sweet release, sweet warmth—Will jolted back to reality. Nausea rolled through him. His hands were shaking. Memories flashed faster and faster. A pain started. That deep inner rending you can't describe when something inside hurts you more than it should.

Will steadied himself on the kitchen counter. His body felt detached, like he could watch himself suffer, but couldn't do anything to help that poor boy. Will whimpered, like a little child. A soft pitiful sob escaped his lips. He felt like a little boy. Like how a small; child must feel when they walk into a room filled with grownups. Surrounded my giants, feeling like he could get crushed at any moment. Will bit back another sob. It hurts, he thought. Make it stop. Have to make it stop. Can't stop it. He could feel the edges of the panic drawing closer. Too much, too painful, can't forget it. Can't make myself forget.

Will ran his hands through his hair. He grabbed it and pulled, feeling the roots straining. He doubled over, hands still in his hair. Need it to stop, need to forget, can't forget, cant't forget. Have to. Will started to cry. Deep, silent, pitiful, choking, not able to breathe sobs. Will stumbled over the the wall to steady himself. He grabbed his head and rocked, trying to somehow get out of the misery, to stop the drowning, stop the feeling. Can't feel, feel too much, remember it all. Not the warmweed. Not the warmweed. Anything but that.

Will let go of his head, and rested his forehead against the cool wall. The coolness eased the tension in his head, but his heart was still being ripped out. He couldn't get away. He pressed his head into the wall and felt the sharp sting. And then he smashed his forehead into the wood. Slam. it was blissfully silent as the world around him crumpled like a piece of paper and faded from black to grey to white. Will hung weightless in the stillness. Slam.

Halt woke with a start and sat up. The father in him was instantly poised on an edge, alert and waiting. Sometimes the father in him trumped the years of trained Ranger habits. A dull hollow thud sounded from the kitchen. Slam. Halt swung his legs out of bead and stood. Slam.

What in Gorlog's beard? Halt thought. What is that boy doing now? Halt opened his door and slipped out into the hallway. He peeked around the corner. Halt froze and the world around him stopped. Everything condensed down into a world with tight edges and lines, all he could see was his boy.

Will stood in the kitchen, hands wrapped tightly around his torso, leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall. Will was crying, tears streaked his face and his shoulders shook. Halt's heart jerked painfully in his chest as he watched his boy cry. The pain was wearing Will down, bending him in half, and it looked like he was close to snapping. And then Will slammed his head into the wall. Again and again. Even from across the room, Halt could see the smear of blood on the wall. Before Halt knew what he was doing, he was across the room.

"Will!" Halt whispered, grabbing Will's shoulder. Will didn't hear him. He couldn't. He was in a trance, unaware of the world around him. All he knew was the wall and his pain. Slam.

"Will stop!" Halt said. Will didn't stop. Slam. Harder this time. Slam. "Please son! Don't do this," Halt said. And then Halt was behind Will. He grabbed him from behind and wrapped his arms around him. The boy was trembling and disoriented with his grief.

"Let me go!" Will shouted, still trying to bang his head against the wall.

"Easy. Not until you calm down," Halt said. Will struggled in Halt's arms. Halt just held him tighter, pinning Will's back to his chest. He had Will's arms pinned in front of him, and Will was helpless.

"Let me go! Please! Let go!" Will was screaming now. Tears were streaming down his face. Halt's heart broke. What did they do to my little boy, Halt thought.

"Let me finish!" Will screamed. He fought harder, kicked his legs and writhed this way and that trying to get out of Halt's grip. But Will was still just a boy, and Halt was a grown man. Will might have been able to outrun and out-climb Halt, but some things, like strength, tended to come a bit later in life.

"I can't, Will," Halt said, bending to whisper in Will's ear. He felt his own eyes growing warm with tears. "I can't let you do this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Will fought Halt for a few more moments and then weakness took over and his legs gave out. Halt sank to the floor still holding Will in his arms. Halt could feel Will's little body convulsing against his chest. He could hear Will's sobs now. Deep pathetic, sobs like a small child.

"Shh," Halt said, "It's alright. I'm here, son." Will couldn't stop. "It's alright." Halt loosened his grip. Will's hands went to his face and covered his eyes.

"Make it stop, Halt," Will said. "Please, make it stop. I can't do this. I just—want to be—done." Halt pulled Will closer to his chest.

"Done, what, Will?"

"Living," Will whispered. Pain stabbed down the center of Halt's chest, his heart, wrenching and sudden.

"Please don't be," Halt whispered. "Don't be done." Halt couldn't think of what to say. In a sudden rush of paternal inspiration from a desperate father, Halt slid his hand up under Will's shirt and pressed it to Will's chest. Will's skin was warm and sweaty and Halt felt his heart racing and his lungs heaving. Halt moved his hand softly, rubbing gently.

"Breathe, son. Breathe. Good boy," Halt said. He kept his voice soft and low. "Good, you're alright. I've got you. I love you. I'll always love you. I'm so sorry, I know it hurts. Breeaaaathe, son." Halt pressed his nose into Will's hair and closed his eyes, willing the pain from Will into himself. Halt found himself rocking slightly, Will again that tiny baby he had brought to the ward so many years before.

"I'm sorry," Will said. His sobs lessened to quiet cries. "I didn't mean to. What's happening?" Tears streamed down his face mixing with the blood that dripped down his face.

"Just breathe. I've got you. We'll be okay." Halt said. Halt wiped the blood from Will's forehead and gently smoothed the tears on his cheeks. "There you are. Good boy." Halt kept his hand on Will's chest. The boy felt so big, and yet so small in Halt's arms, like he was made of nothing but skin, bones and a load of hurt. So much hurt that anyone else would be crushed. Will was folding under it all, but Halt was there to keep him from hitting the ground.

Halt ran his other hand through Will's hair. And slowly, the pain in Will's heart lessened from an explosion, to an ache. From a stabbing, gut-wrenching horror, to a deep aching bruise in his soul.

"Shh," Halt said. "I got you." Halt felt Will's muscles relax slowly. Tears still streamed from closed eyes. Halt watched as Will's face smoothed out into sleep. And he held Will right there on the kitchen floor as his boy cried himself to sleep. Halt felt tears on his own face. I'm so sorry, son, he thought. I'm so sorry. I'll get you through this.

Halt ran his hand over Will's chest, feeling hard muscles from a man's training covering a young boy's body. He leaned over Will and put his mouth next to Will's ear. "You were too young for all that," Halt whispered. "You shouldn't have had to go though that. Just—don't stop. Don't stop living. Because if you do—I do."