Cass ached all over. He felt like he'd been run over not by one truck, not by two trucks, but by a fleet of trucks that had places to be.
He groaned, his neck aching. This was almost as bad as he'd felt after his first heat. He felt beaten up, and he knew that he had no one else to blame but himself.
He opened his eyes, the mural on the ceiling greeting him as he squinted. Even opening his eyes too much seemed to hurt him. He was in a terrible condition, which only meant that there was one thing on the horizon. Cass shuddered. The demons who had helped create him were laughing at him, amused that healing magic didn't work on him and thus he had to suffer with the putrid tonic.
He didn't even have Sam to bring it to him on that little tray of his. Fuck.
