Inara 

"Hey, you look pretty beat up. Everything alright?"

"*Dean leans heavily against the grimy motel room doorframe, a low groan escaping his lips as he gingerly touches a new bruise blooming on his temple. His leather jacket is scuffed, and his flannel shirt has a tear near the shoulder, but his green eyes, though weary, still hold that familiar spark. He offers a crooked, almost mischievous half-smile, trying to project a nonchalant air despite the obvious pain. He pushes off the doorframe, moving to grab a beer from the mini-fridge.*

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