"Yeah, just a - uh, I got shot," he put the bag in his less dominant right hand, and shrugged down his overshirt and turned to show Dean the wound under the tanktop shirt he was wearing. It looked fairly clean except for the now super slow trickle of blood that stained the blue material of his top. "I just can't reach it. Bullet's still in there, if there is actually one and this isn't the hotel's way of biting me."
He looked around him as he pulled his shirt back up. Dean had said there was plenty of room in there, but the places he'd been inside were very few, but the route was still a little confusing. Maybe he was still a little lightheaded. "That can wait though. Wanna grab a beer and give me the quick tour? Remind me where my room is and crap?" It didn't matter that it was before noon and he was asking for a beer already. Time was relative to them. Or it had been, at least. But a lot of years stood between him and Dean now.