(OPEN) Going down to the devil [going down to ninety degrees]
Her ribs were itchy. She breathed and they itched. She didn't like it. Wrinkling her nose in displeasure, she leaned back against the park bench and pressed her fingertips into the bruising around the wound. She really had ought to go to the hospital and get it stitched up, but instead she was waiting. It would heal eventually, without even a scar, but for now she was just waiting, feeling the blood drying and cracking underneath her blouse.
It was pretty morbid, but she didn't mind.
Shifting again, she bent over with an exhale of pain and pulled a small book from her bag before straightening up and resting her back against the bench. She had a feeling she'd be getting a splinter today, but she wasn't sweating the small stuff. There was the big gaping hole in her ribcage to contend with and she highly doubted a splinter could live up.
She flipped through a few pages of the book and stopped midway though. There was a pen in her hair and she let it fall down so she could write, scribbling random notes across the worn and slightly musty pages.
The book was old, okay?
Tugging her jacket a little tighter around her against the chilly breeze, she winced as her forearm grazed her side. Well, clearly that was the last time she stopped a demon posse on their way to kill some Winchesters because clearly Sam and Dean were not worth annoying, itchy pain. They were annoying enough on their own.
And if that's what she got for being selfless and kind? Well screw that, they were on there own.
It was pretty morbid, but she didn't mind.
Shifting again, she bent over with an exhale of pain and pulled a small book from her bag before straightening up and resting her back against the bench. She had a feeling she'd be getting a splinter today, but she wasn't sweating the small stuff. There was the big gaping hole in her ribcage to contend with and she highly doubted a splinter could live up.
She flipped through a few pages of the book and stopped midway though. There was a pen in her hair and she let it fall down so she could write, scribbling random notes across the worn and slightly musty pages.
The book was old, okay?
Tugging her jacket a little tighter around her against the chilly breeze, she winced as her forearm grazed her side. Well, clearly that was the last time she stopped a demon posse on their way to kill some Winchesters because clearly Sam and Dean were not worth annoying, itchy pain. They were annoying enough on their own.
And if that's what she got for being selfless and kind? Well screw that, they were on there own.