Again, her mouth crooked in a semblance of amusement. "I'm hardly a stranger to pain, Mr. Winchester." As the marks littering her body could quite easily testify. She mulled over what he'd said while he stood behind her, breathing slowly and deeply to keep from automatically tensing at the foreign touch.

His hands were warm, however, promising. If a trifle roughened, but her own were hardly soft and delicate. She could sense the strength in his hands; unsurprising, given his occupation, but they were also sure, steady, hardly hesitant. She obligingly held the shirt where he directed, telling herself that the shiver coursing down her spine was from the coolness of the air, and not the brush of calloused fingertips over her skin.

"Even monsters prefer the comforts of home," she heard herself quipping lightly, though she did clench her teeth around another hissed breath when the peroxide hit exposed flesh. "I had been tracking one of the younger ones," she forced out, more to take her mind off Dean's doctoring than aught else. "He ravaged then butchered five teenage girls before the local authorities caught him." She shifted, slightly. "They had no idea what he was, so they incarcerated him as they would a human."

She muttered a low curse in Russian, shaking her head. "He destroyed their station, mutilated all of the local officers, then vanished. I was contacted not long after, and set on his trail." Her lips pursed, though she flinched away from the alcohol's bite. "My mission parameters were to decapitate him and burn what remained." Hence her diving back into the bloody nest to do just that.