Sam could feel Dean's hitching breath against his chest as he gently eased him down onto the shabby comforter.
He swiftly retrieved the first aid supplies and returned, his worried gaze focussed on Dean's deathly pale face.
"How you doing, bro?"
Sam touched Dean's leg and watched weary, pain-filled eyes flicker open.
"Hurts, Sammy."
Sam nodded acutely aware of the unnatural angle at which Dean's dislocated shoulder hung. He reached for the scissors to cut the shirt from the swollen joint. Dean smiled exhaustion evident in his unfocussed eyes.
"Damn, Sam. Not fair. I was real keen on this shirt!"