[2] Hell and Back | d. winchester

5

Stevie stood in front of her mirror with her right hand clutching her side, fingers grounding themselves with the feeling of her bandages wrapped tightly around her ribs.

"Christ." She allowed her eyes to slip shut; she'd planned to say more to divert the pain, but she cut herself off with a hiss of a breath. Stevie had abandoned that hospital with a dislocated shoulder, which she was very aware of, and had still pulled off the sling holding it in place. She refused the support given to her and gritted her teeth, her eyelids scrunching up more as she just stood, breathing. The skin of her shoulder had blackened from the dislocation and a yellow ring outlined it like a highlighter pen had ran over her skin. When it happened, Stevie hadn't seemed to notice. Honestly, she would've popped it back into place herself if she'd been given the time but she was violently clawed in the face the moment after it happened.

She sighed. Her entire body was uncomfortable. It didn't make her want to cry, it wasn't an agony that made her scream from its existence; everything just hurt and it was uncomfortable to be awake. She could wholeheartedly admit, she'd probably been in worse shape in her life. In her first life? Stephanie sighed again with a roll of her eyes. She plucked up the courage to pull at the loose black vest still dangling from the hanger she put it on. She'd done that a year ago, before her death, and she'd been glaring at it while she spent all this time pulling herself together. Eventually, she ripped it from the hanger and slid it quickly over her head. The material fell over her stomach with a satisfying comfort that wasn't provided from her hospital gown. It didn't cling to her body, it hung loose, allowing there to be no unneeded pressure against her bones and the sigh that followed after putting it on was half in content. The other half was in aid to release pain, the movement was not thanked by her body and she hissed when she jerked it down over her skin. Stevie dressed herself in a pair of dark, maroon-ish jeans and slid her feet into the battered worn boots Bobby had kept at the door all this time. Boots side-by-side waiting to be used. Even though she had died with them on her feet, he still hadn't let them go, she thought about his excuse for not throwing them away, but she already knew his reasons: they were hers.

A groan reluctantly fell out her throat when she opened her eyes. She hadn't looked at herself properly in this time; she'd looked at her body like it was somebody else's but now she allowed herself to accept it was a reflection and squinted into the mirror. There were dark strands around her face, falling disorderly about her shoulder. Stevie had made an effort to improve any part of her she could, she'd brushed out the blood and knots in her hair, attempted to shower but could only half-step into the room. She added the make-up that had been left messily on the bathroom counter from her last use to cover the parts it could, and hoped that when she opened her eyes again she didn't resemble how she felt: like complete shit.

The brown of her hair made no cooperation in her struggle, it seemed to amplify her atrocities. He eyes looked darker in this light, the bags beneath them blacker and larger than she'd thought they were. She followed the bruises that danced in the space between her eyelid and eyebrow and she scowled, she couldn't recall when that was put there. She lifted her finger to it, prodding it lightly and she hissed again. "God." Stevie grimaced, shivering with a sigh. She looked completely and utterly battered, and her efforts were painful and useless and she wished she could believe an, 'it could be worse' if one was thrown her way. But from the face that was staring glumly back at her, she really didn't think it could.

What a way to make a return, she thought, but she eyed herself sceptically once more in search of a positive and happily, she plodded out the bathroom. No blood, at least. "How're my boys?"

Stephanie introduced herself as her feet pounded down the wooden stairs. She waltzed in to the kitchen with a genuine effort she hoped she was concealing.