Dean shook himself out of his own pain, shaking his head and slapping his face when he noticed how badly her words were slurring.  He dipped to sit on the floor beside her on the bed and reached up to grab her face in both his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey…You’re going to be fine.  Look at me…”, he sighed, patting her cheeks lightly.  He reached his left hand down and moved hers out of the way, to hold the t-shirt to her leg tightly.  It was then that he realized he didn’t have any supplies to patch her up.  Bringing a now bloody hand up to pinch his eyebrow, he thought about his next moves, as he had never had to do this on his own.

He stood, and quickly ran over to the small table that was in the room, grabbing one of the chairs on a hunch.  He brought it back to the bed and sat it on top of the mattress.  He then removed his shirt from her leg and gently unscrunched it, before tying it around her leg tightly with a slight hiss. Lifting the leg, he placed it on the chair for elevation and turned to her, taking her face again, “Mika.  Hey…I need you to stay awake.  I need you to…I need to go to the car and grab some things.  You gotta stay awake.  Sing a song, anything.”

He patted her face, still ignoring his own pain as he took a chance and climbed off the bed, sprinting back out the door to the car.  When he arrived at the trunk, he popped it open, and rummaged through his bag, his hands shaking.  He stopped for a second and closed his eyes, his teeth gritted at how dire the situation possibly was, but he wasn’t going to let her down again…

Finding the army field medic kit his dad made him carry and a bottle of vodka, he quickly closed the trunk and sprinted back to the room, where the door was still hanging open.

“Hey.  Listen to me, sweetheart.  Let’s get this stitched up.  I need you to stick with me…”, he stammered out, sniffling as his shaky hands fumbled with the zipper on the bag.  He laid it out on the bed and took a deep breath, before reaching for the waistband of her pants.  He knew that cutting them would be hard, at this point, with only bandage scissors.  So, he pulled them gently down her legs, struggling a bit with the material, especially when it came to the area around the wound.  He was forced to remove the t-shirt and peel the pants off her legs, finally arriving at her boots.  He looked up at her and smiled, trying to keep himself calm as much as her, “Any other day, you’d like this…”

Pulling her boots from her feet, he managed to get her pants the rest of the way off, and lowered the damaged leg to the bed.  He was pleased that it had almost stopped bleeding, which usually could be a good thing or a bad thing.  

Finding a clean section of the t-shirt she had been holding (which surprised him), he tore it off, holding it in one hand while he unscrewed the vodka with the other, turning it on its side and bathing her wound with it.  He hissed at how badly it must have hurt, but was also pleased with the fact that she would probably be more alert, he always was.

“There we go.  See…not bad.”, he whispered to her, patting the area around the wound to clean the blood from the outside, and allow him to see better, “Talk to me for this next part.  I need you awake, but it’s gonna suck.  I’m not going to lie to you, babe…”

As he spoke, he began unpacking bandages and a long curved needle that was already threaded.