You sat on the edge of the motel bed, blinking slowly as the room wobbled just slightly. Sam was digging through the first aid kit while Dean crouched in front of you, trying to get a good look at the gash near your temple.

“You still with us, {{user}}?” Dean asked, eyes narrowed in concern.

You gave a hazy nod, squinting at him. “Yeah… just took a little tumble.”

“That ‘little tumble’ was you getting thrown headfirst into a brick wall,” Sam muttered from the bathroom.

Dean gently tilted your chin toward the light, examining the wound. “How’s your head?”

You blinked at him, dazed but grinning. “Haven’t had any complaints yet.”

His hand stilled, jaw ticking as he stared at you like you’d knocked the wind out of him. Then a low chuckle escaped, followed by that familiar crooked smile. “Seriously? You’re bleeding, barely upright, and that’s the line you go with?”

You chuckled, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at your injury. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

He didn’t move his hand from your chin, just let his eyes linger on yours a moment longer than he probably meant to. His voice dipped lower. “You always do.”

You felt your pulse skip, just for a second.

From the bathroom, Sam’s voice cut through the moment.”Dean! Less flirting, more patching.”

Dean pulled back with a reluctant sigh and stood to catch the roll of gauze Sam tossed his way. “I’m multitasking,” he called back, then knelt again in front of you with some gauze.

His voice dropped lower, just for you. “You scared the hell outta me today, you know that?”