Who: Dean and Henry What: A little talk after a certain suicide run… When: Pretty much just after the exorcism. Where: 7th avenue, between 46th and 47th. The location of the exorcism. Warnings: Probably some foul language. Also, if frank discussion of suicide disturbs you, you should probably avoid this log.
(OOC: The exorcism isn’t entirely over yet, so this is partially speculative, but I figure it’s not a bad assumption of the aftermath. If anything needs changing, just let us know and we’ll change it.)
Henry thanked Mira for healing him, keeping his eyes around the toes of his boots, and then shuffled away from the group, heading for an alley entrance. He would hang close enough to hear whether everyone was okay, and would then dart into the alley and get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. He didn’t need to deal with questions about what had gone down, especially about why he’d lied about still having the medicine bag that made him immune to Reika’s touch. Most of the people here, with the exception of Dean, Mira, Kitt, and to a lesser extent Sam, were strangers, and he didn’t feel like talking about his issues with anyone. There were just some things that you did not talk about.
The exorcism had been crazy. He did his job, distracting Reika while the others set things up and did what they needed to do, and then his plan had almost worked. Reika had managed to grab him, and just as he predicted, she was pissed and didn’t plan on letting up her attack until he was completely gone. The only catch? These people were all very good at what they did, and so when Henry was at the brink, finally close to that everlasting peace he was craving, it was snatched away.
The job was done. He wasn’t sure whether the exorcism caused the effects of Reika’s attack to disappear, or whether it was Mira healing him with her Jedi powers, but either way, he was back in fighting trim…physically. Mentally was another story entirely. Mentally, he was a wreck, but now, strangely, less of one than before. There was nothing like a near-death experience for self-discovery, and Henry had, in fact, discovered something: He had a problem.
Of course, realizing it was one thing. Admitting it and talking about it with people was entirely another, which was why he was prepared to get the hell out of dodge the minute he found out if everyone was okay. Until then, he’d wait near the alley and hope no one came to question him.