Being told that someone who was thus far appearing to be a great friend and ally in one's time of need was about to do something heinous and pain-causing was not the most reassuring thing in the world. In fact, it was very much the opposite—one might even go so far as to call it a betrayal of trust of the most dastardly kind.
"That's not a very nice thing to say. Do we have to? I'm having a nice time just sitting here, actually."
But somehow, despite the fact that Gabriel was sitting there, telling her he was about to do something grotesquely painful to her, all Greta was really thinking about was if he was going to keep touching her hair, because that was surprisingly very soothing in her delirious state.
Until, of course, she realized in the vague alertness of her subconscious, Eurgh, what if I'm bloody?
Such was a testament to her knight in shining armor's stomach of steel, she supposed. Merlin only knew if their situations were reversed, she'd be running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
She thought she'd save Gabriel some of the trouble of moving her own awkwardly long limbs by doing it herself, which worked fine for the first three seconds, or so. Until Greta tried putting weight on her bad leg, which she had not yet figured was broken, despite the odd angle it had rested on.
Shrieking, and undoubtedly turning very white, she bit her tongue so hard it almost split. Greta's eyes squeezed, and in a rare moment of lucidity, her voice came out very small, "I don't think I can do this."
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