Quinn nodded. Helplessly.

What else could she do? The thought of Besca leaving at that exact moment—just the [i]thought[/i] of not being able to see her—drew a pathetic whimper from her trauma-wracked brain. So she shivered, and nodded.

Besca slid the needles out from her arm—gently, so gently, so unlike the blinding silver sting of Mom and Dad's needles—and when she tried to get out of bed and her legs [i]they ached like fire so much[/i] fell out from under her, Besca caught her and stopped her from falling. She reached a hand behind her back and felt the plugs, just like Besca had said. She shivered. But it was fine, right? Besca said she'd fix it. So it would be fine. She leaned against her as she slowly, so slowly, tottered towards the door.

Each step was a trial. An ordeal. A labored breath. They hurt so much, and felt so weak, and the slashes in her feet where metal and glass and broken stone had torn through felt like they were being ripped up again and again. Her mind was suddenly filled with [i]run run run running through the fire and the shadows leaping out behind her their teeth their teeth were sharp and all she could do was run run run run because they were it was they it was HUNTING HER RUN[/i] underscored with a high, loud keening that she suddenly realized was her.

She'd stopped moving. Besca was looking at her worriedly, and she looked down at the ground, shamefaced. She wasn't—

No. Besca wouldn't think that way. Besca wouldn't hurt her. Besca would fix it.

With an agonizing pace, she inched towards the door, her legs shaking like rubber underneath her. But every time she fell, Besca caught her underneath the arm and

[color=black]held her up in the water sink SINK[/color]

kept moving forward. She couldn't tell where she was going. Not really. Her vision was still foggy with tears that she still wanted to cry, but her eye hurt too now from crying so much. So she just kept moving with Besca.

Besca was there. Everything would be fine.