[h2]Esme[/h2]
Before Bobby came over to the couch, Esme listened to Dean as he spoke to her. She knew he wouldn’t like the idea of putting her in the basement or that she called herself a monster. As he continued, more tears stuck in the corners of her eyes, and she slightly looked over at him. When he told her that her not being human scared him, she tensed up but didn’t relax when he said she was human enough. Esme nodded at the end of his speech when he paused, hearing Bobby’s footsteps approaching. He was right. Bobby’s was the best place she could be while she figured this out. Bobby’s home was her home, too, and he was also her family. When Dean pinched her chin, a light smile came to her lips at the familiar gesture. It would always make her smile and listen to what he had to say back in the day. She tilted her head toward him as he spoke, taking in every word that left his lips. “Together.” she said softly. As much as that made her feel better, she wondered how Duke would handle it after his reaction moments ago. Though she knew he would help her, too, once he was back to himself again.

She sighed softly as she looked at Dean. “I’ll keep fighting.” she told him softly before Bobby stepped up to the couch. Esme watched Dean scoot back to give Bobby room just as Bobby told her to sit up. With some difficulty and a hiss, Esme was able to sit herself up on the couch, sitting in a position that would make it easy for Bobby to look at her head. When Bobby returned and sat on the couch, she tried to relax as much as possible. When Bobby asked Dean to get a glass of whiskey, and looked off in the distance. She wasn’t much of a whiskey drinker but figured she’d need it for this. As Bobby parted her hair, she winced at how tender her head was around the gash. Esme laughed a little as Bobby gave her the good and bad news, then looked up at Dean as he handed her the glass of whiskey. “Stained hair is the least of my worries.” she replied.  She looked at the glass of whiskey in her hands, noticing how it looked a little darker than usual. She couldn’t help but silently question it as she looked at it.

“Game of operation. Good one, Bobby.” she lightly laughed. Esme lifted the glass to her lips and quickly downed it in one go, scrunching up her nose and giving a couple of coughs. “Woah, I think that bottle’s gone bad, Bobby.” she coughed. She may not have been much for the harder stuff, but she did drink it occasionally, so she knew what it should and shouldn’t taste like, which didn’t taste right. It tasted horrible. She started feeling off as she sat there waiting for the whiskey to work its magic.  It started in her already queasy stomach, becoming a disturbing sick feeling, then slowly moved its way up to her throat. Esme rested a hand on her stomach as she sat there, fighting against the ill feeling creeping up on her. “I think I’m going to be sick.” she said, bringing her free hand to her mouth. No sooner than she got the words out of her mouth, she jumped up from the couch and bolted to Bobby’s office, just barely weaving around Dean. In Bobby’s office, she dropped to her knees at the trash can next to his desk, positioned her head over it, and got sick. 

Esme lost everything in her stomach and then some. Just when she thought she was done and nothing more could come up, another round would start. She couldn’t ever remember getting this sick before, not even as a kid. She chalked up to her body being over-exerted. When she knew she wouldn’t get sick anymore, Esme pushed the trash can away, pulled a bandana from her pocket to wipe her mouth, and slumped against Bobby’s desk, feeling her eyelids becoming heavy. She felt even weaker and more tired than before now. Her stomach ached, her head was pounding, and her throat felt like it was on fire. She tried to get her body to move to get back to the couch, but it felt like jello. “Tapadh leibh uile.” she breathed. “Chan ann a-rithist.” Esme could feel her eyes closing on her the longer she sat there on the floor of Bobby’s office. She fought against it and forced herself to her feet, leaning against Bobby’s desk briefly. Then, she slowly started making her way back to the couch, using anything she could to steady herself.