Dean's bloody head on Sam's lap, he's still too woozy to stand.
Sam swallows thickly, pulling a gory necrotic finger from Dean's hair.
"Hombies…"
"I know, Dean, I hate zombies too."
Sam brushes Dean's flopping hand away.
"I got it."
Sam silently gags as he pops the sticky desiccated blue eye off of Dean's neck.
Surrounded by the remnants of the witches' dead minions, Sam shudders as he attempts to fling the grimy corpse's hand off his ankle without disturbing Dean.
"Sam, k?"
Sam views the carnage. Dead witch, re-dead undead. Living, ichor- spattered, concussed, safe older brother.
"I'm good."