you know the first rule of combat?

With everything that's happened on the island as of late, Faye Valentine's concern about her health has ranked low on her list of priorities. A little bit of fatigue and soreness isn't much to worry about; delayed menstruation is probably just time catching up with her at last, now that she's arguably settled, and now that there's enough air to manage a breath or two. More important than her problems is attending to Dean, watching over Castiel, overseeing everything that Edward does. It at once runs contrary to her nature, and yet doesn't at all— to watch over others hasn't been Faye's modus operandi since she was a child, the years thereafter spent too wholly on herself, on making sure that no one would stamp her out of existence. That she wouldn't be shackled to a debt she never asked for. But it had been her nature, once, to watch out for others.

Maybe that's what makes the transition easier than what anyone might expect.

She passes a shallow breath between her teeth, steps into the clinic when she knows Dean isn't around, hand lingering on the wall and unsure how to do this, how to ask someone about her health when she hasn't truly set foot in a clinic or hospital for years.

"I know I didn't set up an appointment," Faye says uncertainly, leaning over the counter, "but I was hoping someone would have a few minutes to talk to me about some symptoms I've had recently."