Dexter noted the blood on her knee only after she looked at it herself. She was hurt. That devastated him. It was so bizarre to actually care that somebody else was harmed. Without knowing what he was doing, he stepped forward, kneeling down close to her.
"It's okay." He said, softly. God, what was happening? So many years of life without one real emotion in him, and now this? How? Why? Was it this woman in specific? Did it have something to do with the errant bee?
There were some clean wipes in his pocket still from the crime scene. He pulled one of these out now and carefully wiped at the edges of where he thought the wound might be, wanting to get a good idea of it's size and shape before attempting to clean it. There might be rocks in there from the ground. It might be too big for him to handle by himself.
No, it looked like a scrape. A bad one, but nothing too deep.
"We'll get you cleaned up, and then you'll be alright." He smiled at her.