When Dean woke up the next morning he didn't move, not for a good half hour. His sleep was more disturbed than usual - he randomly awoke from half remembered nightmares and as he tossed and turned he opened his wound. He felt the blood pool but he didn't want to tell his father. He had no idea how he would react after last night and he wanted to just clean it up before John could find it. After holding his breathe and listening for any movement Dean finally opened his eyes.

He was alone. He threw off his covers in relief. The blood has spread pretty far but was slightly dried; he hissed as he had to pill the puss and blood soaked sheet off his arm.

Dean first moved to the window. The Impala was not there. This could mean anything from a trip for brreakfast to not seeing him for another month. Dean couldn't help but wish he had at least said the usual goodbye, "Stay safe boys,"then he'd pat Dean on the shoulder and whisper, "Look after Sammy."

There was no Sam to look after right now, that's why he didn't say goodbye. As began began to busy himself like a manic housewife tidying the already oddly clean motel room and attempting to get rid of most of the blood he stopped as he found a small pile of dollars on the table. It would only be enough for a drink or two and a chocolate from the vending machine. Dad was coming home tomorrow morning or tonight at the earliest. He never left enough change.

For once in his life Dean let the maid in, but only briefly to pile the messed sheets in her arms and take the clean ones. He had - of course - taken the proper precautions. His shirt was buttoned to the top to cover the deep purple hand shaped bruise holding his collar bone and neck. The thumb poked out but Dean had no way to cover it.

He smiled at the old cleaner who greeted him, taking the sheets with a curious look behind him and at his neck. All Dean could think was how fortunate the other bruises where hidden from view. Monsters had a knack for hitting the body s it was always easy to hide supernatural injuries, but these human ones proved to be more obvious.

The elderly cleaner continued to walk past the young boy's motel room but stopped as soon as she was out of his view. She folded open the sheets and did not bother to stifle her gasp. The blood stain was wide and with cracked bits of pus hanging off it. She had been shuffling her way home last night when she heard John's shouting and dull thuds. She had not been the only. The owner of the motel had been patting the usual thin layer of sweat on his brow even more than usual when she told him about the noise, he'd manage to avoid any trouble up until now. The cleaner was duly ignored.

Dean surveyed the room. It'd be difficult to tell if the room was even occupied. Dean loosened his top button and sighed as it released the pressure on his bruise. He wanted to go see the damage he'd gotten, just to see how badly he messed up. He unbuttoned is shirt lower and pulled his collar aside - the bruise was a distinct hand print and already going a deep purple in areas. It was so clearly outlined. He carried on unbuttoning his shirt and opened it to look at his sides. Two fainter ovals with purple middles and fading edges were overlapping on his pale belly. Then he turned to look at the cut, he saw his back. His back had very faint bruises, then as Dean was about to turn around he saw it - the worst thing about the whole ordeal - sewn into his wound was a shard of glass. It was the cause of the oozing yellow liquid.