The word of the week is Click and my poor Dean is suffering again.
The audible click resonated off the bunker's old plaster walls as Sam's cruel-to-be-kind thrust brutally relocated Dean's popped shoulder.
The older man's groans of pain subsided to a vulnerable whimper and he was grateful that the chair had sides to help hold him upright.
Sam eased the limp, bruised arm against Dean's body as he reached for the cotton sling from the first-aid box.
"Can you hold it there while I strap it?"
Dean nodded shakily, his skin pale and clammy as he cradled the ruined limb, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally claimed him.
Any shoulder wound fans out there?