[Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, looking genuinely upset, actually, about what he's seeing. Phil's worse in person, like the by-product of being tossed around by a wendigo. He resists the urge to demand an explanation for his state, seeing that Philip really isn't in the right mind for talking too long.
Standing by the bedside, hands curling into fists in his jeans, he assesses the damage and keeps the conversation light and frivolous as he crouches by the bed.]
Hey, dude. Don't think you'll be winnin' any beauty pageants anytime soon.
[Dean glances back at Doctor Lamb.] Unlucky? That ain't exactly comforting. So what's the prognosis, then, 'cause I figure he's gotta have a concussion.
[What frustrates him is that people he knows keep getting hurt, and he's never around to help.]
no subject
[Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, looking genuinely upset, actually, about what he's seeing. Phil's worse in person, like the by-product of being tossed around by a wendigo. He resists the urge to demand an explanation for his state, seeing that Philip really isn't in the right mind for talking too long.
Standing by the bedside, hands curling into fists in his jeans, he assesses the damage and keeps the conversation light and frivolous as he crouches by the bed.]
Hey, dude. Don't think you'll be winnin' any beauty pageants anytime soon.
[Dean glances back at Doctor Lamb.] Unlucky? That ain't exactly comforting. So what's the prognosis, then, 'cause I figure he's gotta have a concussion.
[What frustrates him is that people he knows keep getting hurt, and he's never around to help.]