Seeing her brother positively drenched in blood was a little alarming at first, but seeing as the creature was now laying headless on the ground, she knew where the blood had come from. It didn’t make it any less pleasant, however, and she grimaced at the sight of him. Deanna couldn’t help but worry about Sam.
“It’s me, Sammy. I guess you took care of that, huh?” She quipped, the woman immediately coming over to inspect her brother and see if he was alright. “I got rid of the other one, too. You look like shit.”
He breathes a sigh of relief before slumping back against the alleyway wall. He’s relieved but only for a second, trademark bitchface (unchanged by aged apparently) starts to creep onto his face.
The insult makes no sense but he just took down a (what did Dean call ‘em once?) Jefferson Starship kind of monster with a blade so he gets to credit himself. His arm feels like shit. His head feels worse, but there’s only one thing that bothers the living hell out of him.
“How’d you manage to not get nasty trying to kill these things?”
One step. Ha, golden. Another. Oh shit--He wobbles, fixates his eyes on his feet before grunting out. “You can rib on me when we get back to the motel, yeah?” Though he seizes the chance when he’s close enough to his sister that he drapes an arm around her shoulders, hiding a smirk.
“Yeah that’s better. Now come on, help your little brother back to the car--”