Day 57: Arts and Crafts Room (third shift)

[toxicspiderman]

They hadn't handed him a cane this morning, and they'd been right.  His knee was healing.  It ached, but it held his weight.  Going out to the greenhouse and standing on it for a few hours was a bad idea, though.  If it gave out on him tonight, what would he say.  "Sorry, dudes, a bunch of tomatoes were more important.  Like actual tomatoes."  That

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[affictitious]

Cat was out of the bag, (proverbial) heart unburdened, cleared and lightened chest, no longer Atlas-ing the truth, et cetera, et cetera. Gabriel sure wasn't pleased about it - but considering he wasn't really pleased with anything that had happened outside of stuffing a teenager into a cake, there wasn't much to bitch about. Everything was pretty downhill, and there would be no hopeful Rocky montage to bring the tension back up again.

What Would Sylvester Stallone Do? Words to live by. He probably would have gotten eaten the first night, so maybe not so much.

Either way, the sooner he was out of Castiel's ever-encroaching consternation, the sooner he could breathe without inhaling melodramatic angel vibes. The room his soldier-nurse (great disguise, by the way. Arnold in a wig was a bit more convincing than this little ruse) picked wasn't his top personal choice, but it wasn't like free patient bakery was on the menu either.

Well, if it wasn't Erika. Not to claim he was a master at reading people (he was), but if there ever was a suspect for Rosemary's baby... here she was. Hell, what did he have to lose outside of time? Even if she was looking for someone, he wasn't too concerned about it.

"How's it been going, Blue? See that you've survived a few more nights. Personal congrats."