You've Dug Your Grave, Now Lie In It || Fabrevans
Quinn was out of breath by the time she reached Sam's flat, which was rare for her so that's how you know she had run fast. She was only relieved for a second that he hadn't locked the door, and then the far off faint smell of blood hit her and that relief dissolved. He was hurt and he was bleeding, or had already bled. And she couldn't control herself. Or maybe she could, if she focused enough. She moved into the bedroom, finding a pale and battered Sam collapsed on the bed. "Sam," She breathed before she was moving gingerly on the bed with him, noticing that the silver rosary still hung on his neck. She could've cried. Swallowing thickly, Quinn blinked furiously before she leaned over her, taking account of his injuries. He seemed to be folded over his ribcage and his eye was bruising. She tried to get him to sit up, to talk, to prove that he wasn't going to die. "C'mon," She muttered, biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed. "Let me take you to the hospital."
