[h3] Cason and AnnaBeth [/h3]

Annabeth heard Sam’s voice, reaching out for him.  She couldn’t see anything, and didn’t know if she even wanted to try and open her eyes, or if she even still had eyes.  

“Sam?”, she asked in the direction of his face.  Her hand finally found his wrist, the heat calmed down enough that it wouldn’t seriously burn his skin, but was still hot to the touch.  She uncovered her face completely to reveal that she had no eyes, “I can’t see…I can’t see anything…”

Cason gasped for air, leaning forward with his hands on his knees as the angel sigil worked.  He was shocked, but also relieved as he tried to catch his breath to assess the aftermath.  When Natalia asked what the hell had happened, Cason simply looked up at her and sighed, “Angel.  That…was an angel.  I know.  Let it sink in.”

Cason then turned to Benjamin and glared, “And you.  If you ever…EVER raise a hand to me again, I will turn you into burger meat before you can snap your pretty little fingers.  I could have prevented this!  Witches…”

He trailed off, staring over at Annabeth with angry tears pricking the corners of his eyes.  He shook himself free of what he assumed was a human emotion and pushed away from the wall he stood by, wiping the remaining blood from his palm onto his jeans.

He ran into the bathroom, grabbing all the towels he could find and brought them back into the room, crawling onto the bed.  He gave Sam a look, letting him know he meant no harm to him, at the moment, since she was alive.  He just wanted to keep her that way.

“Roll this way sweetheart…”, he whispered to Annabeth, pulling her body toward him.  As he did so, a stream of blood squirted from her chest, onto the bed in front of Sam, soaking into his jeans.  She squeezed Sam’s arm a little harder, gritting her teeth.  Cason winced, as Annabeth cried out, careful to not cause anymore damage than necessary, “I know.  I know.  Shh.  You’re okay.  We got you…”

He pressed one of the towels to her chest for a second to see how bad the cuts were, only to realize they were nearly as deep as a hellhound attack, which he was intimately familiar with.  He brought a bloody hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, wracking his brain for ways to fix this.

“S-Sam.  This might be…I don’t know what to do.  We may have to think about a hospital…”, he muttered to Sam, knowing the hospital wouldn’t know what to do with her, necessarily either, “How good are you with a needle and thread?”