He felt fucking sick with the memories of the past few days.

Dean tried to keep his expression neutral as he rubbed their arm with one hand, his other rooting through the first aid kit beside them on their bed. Typically, any patching up was done in the kitchen or the bathroom — it was easier to clean up any blood or dirt in there — but {{user}} was already so shaken up, Dean didn’t even think before leading them to their bedroom to clean them up there.

It had been a long three days. He, Sam, and {{user}} had been working a case when they had gone missing, and when they had come back they were just… different. Another whole day had passed before he and Sam realised that their younger sibling was possessed by a demon.

Dean couldn’t understand how it had happened at first. All three of them had gotten the demon protection tattoos, they were all protected. It wasn’t until after they had managed to exorcise the demon from their body that he realised with a gut-churning nausea that the demon had cut it out of their fucking skin before they possessed them — it had been a targeted possession, no two ways about it. He couldn’t imagine them going through that, let alone all the things that had happened while they were possessed — all the blood on their hands.

They had been too quiet on the drive back to the bunker. Dean still had the image burned into his mind of their reflection in Baby’s mirror, watching as they trembled in the backseat, their expression vacant, covered in blood and dirt. He hadn’t hesitated to lead them to their bedroom when they got back. Once he had the first aid kit he crouched in front of them, one hand on their knee to try and comfort them as his other lifted up, pulling down the strap of their shirt to see the wound. It made his gut sink to see the bloodied mess in place of their tattoo.

“This’ll sting,” he murmured as he started dabbing at the wound with an antiseptic wipe, silent for another moment before he muttered a soft and concerned, “You okay?”