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Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do. Crowley gritted his teeth and pulled the dying boy backwards, cursing. His nerves suddenly could take no more and he jumped up.
"Give it a fucking rest!" he screamed at the enemy lines, noting with satisfaction the sniper's sudden death.
He picked the boy up easily and sprinted back, healing him as he ran.
"Sorry," the boy whispered.
"It's OK, you're not dying."
"You're. . .glowing, Sir."
"I said, you're not fucking dying. Cut that out."
His men pulled them to safety. He couldn't take this much longer. Screw Hell's plans.