Word: Flesh
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"Careful…"
Bobby laid Dean across the bed, cautious as not to injure him further. The bullet had lodged itself under his right ribs and, from what he could see, was going to be a bitch to get out. It was no flesh wound.
"Bobby, what do we…?"
Sam, always the worrier, panicked. Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to simply sit this one out, he would fix Dean.
Sam sat in the corner, watching as Dean's bloodied body was worked on by steady hands he didn't have. Sam just hoped Bobby knew what he was doing.