Who: Dean and Gretel What: Mourning, patching up minor injuries- hunter things Where: Delta, Dean's room When: Saturday night, after the Viewing Party Rating: Some language
Gretel had snapped, and she bloody well knew it. After two weeks of watching nothing but needless death, mourning Sam and Raven, and trying to escape a lot of the helplessness in her mind with anything that could get her drunk, she had been teetering on the edge of it for days. Then Hansel showed up, and within two days he was taken from her, whisked off with that gigantic asshole who promised nothing but bad things for her brother the more she acted up. She had no idea where they were taking him, or when (or if) he was coming back-
When they all blinked into existence locked in that auditorium in those eye-sore doll costumes for another round of senseless killing, she felt her mind go black. How long she had punched and elbowed anything with a screen on it, and any door that never budged, she didn't know. Somehow Margaery had managed to talk her out of killing herself with the effort to escape- she didn't remember a lot of that, either. Nor did she say anything besides vague, detached acknowledgement of Dean when he took her off Margaery's hands and on back to the pink nightmare of a dorm they shared.
Only now, as she sat in his equally horrible-pink room, feeling his rough hands on her own- which she had well mangled in her rage- was the static clearing enough to feel a tense, sentient numbness. The pain in her bloodied knuckles and torn elbows was a good reminder that she still existed. She held onto it like meditation.