[ A coven of witches wasn't anything to sneer at, no matter how much Ethan might want to. Damnable bitches, all of them, throwing hexes and spells with the easy familiarity of those well-familiar with the dark arts. Breaking their ring of power hadn't been pleasant, or easy; leaving them all alive to regret their choices hadn't been easy, either. The killer in him had wanted blood for their transgressions: the Laws he'd followed all of his remembered existence were crystal clear. No quarter, no parole, no reprieve.
But now, thanks to some strange twist of fate, he had to learn a new way: a new way to hunt, a new way to live. Because his old way just...didn't work here. Not even the angel could explain it (and wasn't that the mother of all shocks, bandying words with a fucking angel of the Lord). Regardless, here he was and here he'd remain, at least for the near future, and a vampire was nothing if not adaptable. Survival mechanism, that.
After this hunt, however, the human with whom he'd been working was quite the worse for wear; the man's mortal body susceptible to any and all sorts of ailments; broken bones, contusions, gashes, punctures, the works. And the Winchester had taken quite a beating, charging right into the coven as he had. Ethan had learned over the past months that patience and observation weren't exactly high on Dean's hunting list.
He'd managed to get the man stuffed into the backseat of the precious Impala, then down the road about thirty miles - well out of range of pursuit - and a C-note at some backwater, roadside motel bought privacy and a relative safe place to get out of sight. (Thank whatever gods existed in this realm that the younger Winchester was off on his own little soiree, and not here to bluster, hover, or fret.)
Hardly a nursemaid, but still a decent field medic, Ethan dumped Dean a little unceremoniously on one of the beds, sharp eyebrow lifted as he took in the mess. Bruised, bloody, but not completely broken. The vampire rolled the hunter over, pointedly ignoring the small trails of scarlet that stained the human's skin. ]
Dean. [ A brief shake of the undamaged shoulder. ] Open your eyes. Wake up. I need to reset that dislocated shoulder.
[ Fucking witches. Dean hates them, hates their hex bags and their spells, hates their friggin' bodily fluids spraying everywhere, hates everything about it. It's disgusting, all of it is just disgusting.
He hates vamps too, for the most part - nasty bastards, leaving as much goo (blood) around as much as the witches sometimes, but he's helpful in a pinch, at least. Especially when he gets reckless - which...is frequently. He's kind of a shoot now, ask questions later kinda guy, which is all well and good in some situations, like...wendigos, demons, shit like that. But when you're dealing with pissed witches, they like to throw you around before they kill you, and it doesn't take much to end up pretty busted, shoulder fucked, head ringing, bloodied, unconcious.
Awesome.
He doesn't want to wake up; he's probably freakin' concussed (for...the umpteenth time, thank god for angels with superpowers, he'd have brain damage otherwise), and when Ethan shakes him he plays dead for a few moments before cracking an eye with a groan. ]
No.
apologies; i am the slowest granola during the week, ugh ><
[ Ethan was not impressed. Or moved by the man's pathetic plight. It only served him right, in the vampire's view, and it was a set of several miracles (or so he'd been given to understand) that the man was still breathing and walking around.
Why did humans do this sort of shit to themselves? Or, at the least, put themselves in a situation where it happened?
He swore he'd never understand it at all.
Nevertheless, Ethan also knew that if Dean didn't get that shoulder fixed, then it'd get worse, and be even more painful, and he'd have to listen to the human bitch for the next however-many days before it hurt enough to make him do something about it. Ergo, the vampire simply pushed the hunter to his back, put a knee on the mattress, and gave that arm a solid yank, hearing the satisfying pop! as the joint abruptly snapped back into place.
Let him yell. ]
There. [ Said matter-of-factly. ] You swilled all the booze last night, so you're just going to have to do with painkillers and water.
[ Both of which the vampire now had in hand, offered to the hunter with all the sympathy of a marble statue. ]
DONT BE LMAO im about to be REALLY slow, going out of the country for 2.5 weeks
[ A string of curses comes out, a snarl coupled with a whine of pain. Fuck, that hurts - and it's not the first time he's had to have it shoved back into joint. God damn it. ]
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But now, thanks to some strange twist of fate, he had to learn a new way: a new way to hunt, a new way to live. Because his old way just...didn't work here. Not even the angel could explain it (and wasn't that the mother of all shocks, bandying words with a fucking angel of the Lord). Regardless, here he was and here he'd remain, at least for the near future, and a vampire was nothing if not adaptable. Survival mechanism, that.
After this hunt, however, the human with whom he'd been working was quite the worse for wear; the man's mortal body susceptible to any and all sorts of ailments; broken bones, contusions, gashes, punctures, the works. And the Winchester had taken quite a beating, charging right into the coven as he had. Ethan had learned over the past months that patience and observation weren't exactly high on Dean's hunting list.
He'd managed to get the man stuffed into the backseat of the precious Impala, then down the road about thirty miles - well out of range of pursuit - and a C-note at some backwater, roadside motel bought privacy and a relative safe place to get out of sight. (Thank whatever gods existed in this realm that the younger Winchester was off on his own little soiree, and not here to bluster, hover, or fret.)
Hardly a nursemaid, but still a decent field medic, Ethan dumped Dean a little unceremoniously on one of the beds, sharp eyebrow lifted as he took in the mess. Bruised, bloody, but not completely broken. The vampire rolled the hunter over, pointedly ignoring the small trails of scarlet that stained the human's skin. ]
Dean. [ A brief shake of the undamaged shoulder. ] Open your eyes. Wake up. I need to reset that dislocated shoulder.
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He hates vamps too, for the most part - nasty bastards, leaving as much goo (blood) around as much as the witches sometimes, but he's helpful in a pinch, at least. Especially when he gets reckless - which...is frequently. He's kind of a shoot now, ask questions later kinda guy, which is all well and good in some situations, like...wendigos, demons, shit like that. But when you're dealing with pissed witches, they like to throw you around before they kill you, and it doesn't take much to end up pretty busted, shoulder fucked, head ringing, bloodied, unconcious.
Awesome.
He doesn't want to wake up; he's probably freakin' concussed (for...the umpteenth time, thank god for angels with superpowers, he'd have brain damage otherwise), and when Ethan shakes him he plays dead for a few moments before cracking an eye with a groan. ]
No.
apologies; i am the slowest granola during the week, ugh ><
Why did humans do this sort of shit to themselves? Or, at the least, put themselves in a situation where it happened?
He swore he'd never understand it at all.
Nevertheless, Ethan also knew that if Dean didn't get that shoulder fixed, then it'd get worse, and be even more painful, and he'd have to listen to the human bitch for the next however-many days before it hurt enough to make him do something about it. Ergo, the vampire simply pushed the hunter to his back, put a knee on the mattress, and gave that arm a solid yank, hearing the satisfying pop! as the joint abruptly snapped back into place.
Let him yell. ]
There. [ Said matter-of-factly. ] You swilled all the booze last night, so you're just going to have to do with painkillers and water.
[ Both of which the vampire now had in hand, offered to the hunter with all the sympathy of a marble statue. ]
DONT BE LMAO im about to be REALLY slow, going out of the country for 2.5 weeks
[ A string of curses comes out, a snarl coupled with a whine of pain. Fuck, that hurts - and it's not the first time he's had to have it shoved back into joint. God damn it. ]
You asshole.
[ And no BOOZE Dean is going to simply expire. ]
There's nothing at all?