Dean did not happen to run into that particular nasty on the night in question, but he did have a throw down with a couple nasties of his own; and while he is the first to admit that plugging a few of them had been just the kind of stress relief he needed - now that the added stress of knowing Sam is alright, more or less, has been alleviated; and it must, or Dean wouldn't be wandering aimlessly in the Mansion or anywhere else - he's kind of moved on to the just plain bitchy stage of things.

Food usually helps with that, more or less, so that's why Dean eventually limps into the kitchen, skin kind of pale but features determined. His injured thigh is wrapped tightly under worn, loose jeans so it's not readily obvious why he's moving so stiffly, but he's pulled the sleeves of his tan henley up to his elbows so the gauze wrapped around one of his forearms is pretty visible.