[Her digs don't work. They were never going to, Dean knows from experience that this process is foolproof. It's a guarantee, as long as he can keep the subject strapped down long enough to finish. He's taken enough precautions to make sure that's going to be the case.
He wasn't going to cure her. Not for years, not at all. She'd been tame enough, that first little while. Toed the line of morally gray just enough to keep Dean off her case and let her continue her existence free and unimpeded. Her little incident, though, was all the reminder that he needed- when demons become complacent, when they get bored, when they get chaotic, there really is no limit to what they're capable of doing to fill that craving.
A demon is a demon is a demon, and he's not sure how he kept forgetting that when it came to her.
He preps the next needle as she talks, shoulders drawn tight, lips pressed into a flat and grim line.
Something about Meg. Something about her. He doesn't know what it is, maybe that she died for them, maybe that she studied under Alistair. Maybe the fondness Cas always held for her. Something about her makes her seem soft to him, just soft enough for him to let his guard down, and he can't do that anymore.
It's his own irresponsibility and poor judgement that let things get this far in the first place.
Her words roll off like water, dismissed for what they are- last minute scrambling, a struggle to get a foothold, and when he looks down at her, there might be something akin to pity hiding behind his eyes.]
Two more, after this one. We're almost done.
[He responds, as if it's some kind of consolation.
And then jabs the needle into her skin. Presses the plunger down.]
no subject
He wasn't going to cure her. Not for years, not at all. She'd been tame enough, that first little while. Toed the line of morally gray just enough to keep Dean off her case and let her continue her existence free and unimpeded. Her little incident, though, was all the reminder that he needed- when demons become complacent, when they get bored, when they get chaotic, there really is no limit to what they're capable of doing to fill that craving.
A demon is a demon is a demon, and he's not sure how he kept forgetting that when it came to her.
He preps the next needle as she talks, shoulders drawn tight, lips pressed into a flat and grim line.
Something about Meg. Something about her. He doesn't know what it is, maybe that she died for them, maybe that she studied under Alistair. Maybe the fondness Cas always held for her. Something about her makes her seem soft to him, just soft enough for him to let his guard down, and he can't do that anymore.
It's his own irresponsibility and poor judgement that let things get this far in the first place.
Her words roll off like water, dismissed for what they are- last minute scrambling, a struggle to get a foothold, and when he looks down at her, there might be something akin to pity hiding behind his eyes.]
Two more, after this one. We're almost done.
[He responds, as if it's some kind of consolation.
And then jabs the needle into her skin. Presses the plunger down.]