They'd just finished taking care of a witch coven and they both had blood all over them. Dean more than Sam, but that wasn't an unusual occurrence. Dean tended to be more reckless and aggressive than Sam was during a hunt.
They both walked through the forest back to the road where the Impala was waiting for them. That was something the Impala always did for her owners. Wait. She waited while they took care of what ever creature was terrorizing the town they'd stopped in at the time. This time it was a small town in Illinois.
Sam opened up the trunk and the little flap under it, pushing the shotgun to hold it up, and set his weapons inside. He turned around, expecting to see Dean right behind him, but instead he was almost 15 feet away. "Dean?" he sprinted over to his brother, who had a hand on his side, and was limping toward him.
"That- That's your blood! Why the hell didn't you say anything?!" Sam yelled, as he put his arm around Dean's shoulders and practically carried him to the Impala. "It's not anything serious, dude. Just a little stab wound." Dean joked.
"You're impossible," Sam laid Dean down in the back of the Impala, "I'm gonna get you cleaned up now." He grabbed their makeshift first aid kit and dressed Dean's wound. Once he was finished, he helped Dean get to the passenger seat, earning a groan from his brother due to him having to drive Baby.
The two hours of driving back to their motel and the only thing said between them begun with a remark from Dean, "I hate witches." and ended with a small 'hmph' from Sam. This wasn't a rare occurrence, either.
Prompt: "That-That's your blood! Why the hell didn't you say anything?!"
Creator of Post: bump-of-whump