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“i can feel your worrying from here,” she announces, fond exasperation in her voice as she lets the bloody cloth drop from her forehead. it lands in her lap, and she makes a mental note to rinse it out later the best she can. “i’m fine, scott. it’s healing -- just a little slower than we’d all like.” which was normal, ever since she had been resurrected; a small unfortunate side effect that deaton had hoped would change over time ( they were still waiting ).












