In all honesty, she was surprised to see him standing before her, but surprised by the fact that he looked like the walking dead. “Christ, Sam. You look like shit.” Just like Dean, she always spoke on her mind – well, ninety-eight percent of the time. Before she could even ask how he was holding up, Sam had flat out told her to leave; indirectly, of course.
“Bobby didn’t send me, Sam. Dean did.”
Before the Winchester could react, Deena was already pushing past him into the room. Even though he was a traveler, the place didn’t look lived in. It looked like he had just arrived, minus the wrinkle spot that somewhat outlined his body on the bed. She felt the silence between them grow thick and absolute; what would she say? She hadn’t lost a sibling yet. Her first impulse was to grab him for a hug and tell him that she was sorry for his loss; her heart went out to him, because it wounded her to see him looking the way he did.
She just kind of continued to survey the area before finally coming to look at him; and this time around, noticing his still bleeding hand.
“What happened?” Deena didn’t wait for permission to be given as she grabbed onto his hand and examined the wounds. Self-inflicted. A clean, red handkerchief was pulled from her back pocket and used to wrap his hand as best as possible. “I know you don’t want me here Sam, but you ain’t getting rid of me that easily either so deal with it.”