Another notch in his side, fifty-six in total, some scarred, some scabbed; this one was still fresh, bleeding into his shirt just under his ribs on the right side. It stung a little as the lacy fabric brushed against it, but the pain was what kept him going some days.

Somewhere below him, a man moaned, crying to himself as he bled out from a very unfortunate wound. Cas leaned over the side of the building he was on... and spat on him. Even the Devil himself couldn't garner his sympathy, and he sure as hell wasn't about to spare any on a rapist that he may or may not have castrated mid-act and left to die alone in a filthy New York alley. His fingers clenched and unclenched, and a nervous tic had pulled the corners of his mouth into a constant twitch, tugging at the still-scabby side of his face. Seen a lot of things. Killed a lot of them- the fifty-six cuts on his side were just the highest rising, he'd started on the toes of his right foot. Most things didn't really bother him, hadn't ever really bothered him. The things he did for money were often... undesirable. But that... that was a special kind of evil, something fucked up enough to actually make him feel sick and his blood boil.

The truth was, he was still lingering on the roof because he was hoping, maybe, someone or something might come along and try to help the dying sod below him. Something that might cause him to drag this out and perhaps, give him a reason to further injure the piece of human debris down there. He actually did have a job to do, something about hunting living shadows or something, but he was grasping any possible excuse to stay here, waiting. If he recognized the sadism in the situation, it was lost on him.