Really, really stupid, because if Dean knows one thing, it's that this kind of individual doesn't give up. Ever. If Dean helps him, Castiel isn't gonna just pat him on the head and let him go. Even if Dean flees, his little stalker will eventually be right back on his heels.
He should let him die. He really...really should. ]
Try to relax.
[ With his hands freed, there's a brief moment where Dean does consider running and he looks at the road, the keys still in the ignition, the limp body of Castiel slumped against the opposite window.
Dammit.
Instead of running, he snatches the knife out of Castiel's hand, then leans in and squints, trying to get a good idea of what he's working with. ]
You need stitches. [ It's immediately clear, even without tearing all Castiel's clothes and vest away from the wound, which is what he moves to do with the knife, ripping right into the dress shirt so he can get a better look at his shoulder. ] And probably a transfusion. I'm a universal donor, but I doubt you've got a field kit like that out here. I do, but you snatched me away from my car, so. We're gonna have to make do.
[ Dean leans down and slashes the zip tie that's secured around his ankles, then opens the door so he can pop the trunk to see what he's working with. If the guys on a mission like he's said, there's going to be supplies, and Dean's intuition isn't wrong. Between the first aid kit in the front, another one in the trunk, some dental floss and a needle, he can do this.
Also, whiskey from the flask in Dean's jacket is definitely necessary. It's not really an escape risk, so he guesses that's why it wasn't confiscated.
He gets back into the car, leaving the door open so he has room to work, and airflow to keep it from getting too hot and stuffy. Unscrewing the lid of the flask, he holds it up to Castiel's lips, tipping it back, not really giving him a choice. ]
Take a swig. It'll help.
[ Because this is not gonna feel great. At all. Dean's going to have to move Castiel around to get the shirt out of the way and that damn vest off so that he can actually work without continually bumping into kevlar. Dean takes a drink himself, and sets about wiping the blood away with alcohol pads, digging the bullet out with the tweezers, and sewing the idiot back together. ]
no subject
Really, really stupid, because if Dean knows one thing, it's that this kind of individual doesn't give up. Ever. If Dean helps him, Castiel isn't gonna just pat him on the head and let him go. Even if Dean flees, his little stalker will eventually be right back on his heels.
He should let him die. He really...really should. ]
Try to relax.
[ With his hands freed, there's a brief moment where Dean does consider running and he looks at the road, the keys still in the ignition, the limp body of Castiel slumped against the opposite window.
Dammit.
Instead of running, he snatches the knife out of Castiel's hand, then leans in and squints, trying to get a good idea of what he's working with. ]
You need stitches. [ It's immediately clear, even without tearing all Castiel's clothes and vest away from the wound, which is what he moves to do with the knife, ripping right into the dress shirt so he can get a better look at his shoulder. ] And probably a transfusion. I'm a universal donor, but I doubt you've got a field kit like that out here. I do, but you snatched me away from my car, so. We're gonna have to make do.
[ Dean leans down and slashes the zip tie that's secured around his ankles, then opens the door so he can pop the trunk to see what he's working with. If the guys on a mission like he's said, there's going to be supplies, and Dean's intuition isn't wrong. Between the first aid kit in the front, another one in the trunk, some dental floss and a needle, he can do this.
Also, whiskey from the flask in Dean's jacket is definitely necessary. It's not really an escape risk, so he guesses that's why it wasn't confiscated.
He gets back into the car, leaving the door open so he has room to work, and airflow to keep it from getting too hot and stuffy. Unscrewing the lid of the flask, he holds it up to Castiel's lips, tipping it back, not really giving him a choice. ]
Take a swig. It'll help.
[ Because this is not gonna feel great. At all. Dean's going to have to move Castiel around to get the shirt out of the way and that damn vest off so that he can actually work without continually bumping into kevlar. Dean takes a drink himself, and sets about wiping the blood away with alcohol pads, digging the bullet out with the tweezers, and sewing the idiot back together. ]