Dean sat down on the motel's creaky wooden chair with a grunt, falling back into it and running his hands through his hair. Pain aching in his back and head, entire body seemingly exhausted from dealing with another angry spirit.

As his partner pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt he hissed, gritting his teeth as blood trickled down his arm.

“Come on—I'll get it later.” He complained, nearly whining as they took out a sewing kit. His hand raised ready to try and push them away but when they gave him that look, he quickly retreated and sighed, bowing his head before turning to look as they got the needle ready.

“You screw this up, and you're goin' in first next time." He grumbled, though it was clear he didn't mean it, always trying to keep them out of dangerous situations if he could help it.