Wounds Closed, Questions Open

Ein stared at the needle, a shiver running down his spine. "Why so small? Couldn't you pick a bigger one?" he muttered sarcastically, shifting uncomfortably on the stool.

Dean scoffed and tilted the arm lamp to shine the light in Ein's face. "If that's your wish, we can still arrange that."

"Of course. I bet stabbing me with a needle is the pinnacle of your day." Ein glared at Dean, squinting until he redirected the light back to the wound, his eyes momentarily narrowing in frustration.

Dean positioned himself, stretching his arms, ready to begin. "Either shut up or do it yourself."

With a deep breath, Ein tried to focus on something else—the buzzing of the lamp, the faint sound of the heater. Anything but the needle piercing through his skin, followed by the burn of the thread running through, and the stitches being pulled at the edges of the wound.