"Damn it, Dean." You say softly, wiping the blood away from the cut on Dean's forehead. "I told you to be careful."

He winced at the feeling of the cloth over his wound. "Ouch." He grumbled. He allowed himself to be taken care of, enjoying the sound of rain outside the motel room and the old Frank Sinatra concert playing on the TV.

He looked up when he received a kiss on the top of his head, his eyes meeting his lover's. "I told you to be careful." Dean heard.