Sam bucked against the pain as Dean pressed hard against the wound in his side.
"Sorry. Gotta stop the bleeding, bro."
"I know." Sam fisted his hands at his sides. "Guess my sweatshirt's shot, huh?"
"Between the blood and the rips from the griffin's claws, yeah—I'd say it's a goner."
"Damn. Was my favorite."
"We'll get you a new one."
Sam fingered the frayed edges of the cuffs. "Yeah, but a new one won't be this one. This is the one you steal every time you get sick," Sam joked.
"Don't worry. I can break in the new one."
FIN