Nate shakes his head, taking another sip of his beer. He doesn't need anything stronger. It's just bruising and swelling, a little stiffness. Nothing he hasn't dealt with a thousand times before. Sam should know that just about better than anyone.
"I'm good," he tells him, leaning back into the couch. At the very least he has an apartment to recuperate in now, with a bed and a couch and a shower. It's already way better than any of the other times he's been badly injured, trying to patch himself up in the middle of a fire-fight or in the middle of the fucking desert.
He rolls his beer bottle in his fingers. "Most excitement I've had in a while, actually." His face hurts and his hand hurts and none of that is ideal, but he can't deny that he'd enjoyed the adrenaline rush at the time. He hasn't been in a fight in almost a year, hasn't had anything out of the ordinary happen except for the thousand parties the people in this city like to throw and an occasional bout of crazy city magic.
no subject
"I'm good," he tells him, leaning back into the couch. At the very least he has an apartment to recuperate in now, with a bed and a couch and a shower. It's already way better than any of the other times he's been badly injured, trying to patch himself up in the middle of a fire-fight or in the middle of the fucking desert.
He rolls his beer bottle in his fingers. "Most excitement I've had in a while, actually." His face hurts and his hand hurts and none of that is ideal, but he can't deny that he'd enjoyed the adrenaline rush at the time. He hasn't been in a fight in almost a year, hasn't had anything out of the ordinary happen except for the thousand parties the people in this city like to throw and an occasional bout of crazy city magic.