Dean stood in the bathroom of the bunker, his weight leaning against his hands resting on the porcelain sink. His knuckles were white as he kept his focus on the mirror, his own reflection staring back at him.

The blood clung onto his jaw, trailing down to his neck to pool around his collarbone, soaking his shirt. His lip split, the dried blood cracking as he examined himself.

He moved a cloth over the stream of warm water before pressing it lightly onto his skin. A low hiss escaped his lips as his skin was hot with the touch.

He didn't have to look away from his reflection when he heard footsteps approach; he knew who it was. His eyes flicked to the concerned face of {{user}} through the mirror.

"I've had worse." He muttered dismissively; he wasn't one to make a big deal about some cuts and bruises. He didn't need anyone fussing over him. He forced his slight signature smirk, his go-to when things hurt more than he was willing to admit.