[ Knowing Dean is, uh. Honestly surprisingly... Actually it's not as weird as it should be, maybe. He gets a text asking if he's home and Terry knows immediately that something is probably some shade of wrong and he should be prepared to try and help. ]
[ So he's making himself some strong coffee while he waits for whatever chaos Dean is bringing with him. ]
[ It's bound to be a wild ride of some sort, so Terry at least has a head start on that. Knowing and letting Dean into your life is inviting chaos, and when Dean finally knocks on the door, this time is no exception.
He's leaned against the doorframe, head bowed, an arm curved around his middle. It's stained with blood - both his and not, and it's smeared over his shirt and jeans, and is pooling at the floor by his feet. ]
[Never mind this is significantly worse than he was expecting.]
[To his credit, Terry doesn't waste any time being surprised. He sees the state Dean is in and immediately moves to duck under Dean's free arm and put an arm around him to take his weight, gentle but firm about guiding him to the bedroom as somewhere in the back of his mind Terry thinks about the state his bed is going to be and quietly mourns his bank balance.]
-- And here I was hoping you were bringing me food.
[ It's worse than either of them probably think; Dean's arm is hiding the majority of the problem, but once he moves it Terry will see the slices in his shirt and skin, three gashes made by something inhuman. ]
Next time I'll stop at McDonald's on the way. Unless you're vegan. You're not vegan are you?
[Oh, he sees those gashes and frowns deeply. Partially out of concern, but also out of a deep fear that he's going to have to sew those up, and sure he has stuff for that but that doesn't mean he knows how to use it.]
I don't make enough money to be vegan. Here--
[He tries to get Dean sitting first, just on the edge of the bed so Terry can get his shirt off and see what's happening here. That's the plan, at least, but he half wonders if maybe he should just grab a pair of scissors and get the shirt off that way.]
[ His shirt is shredded, sticking to the wound in the places where the blood has dried. It hurts to be peeled away, and he hisses in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean's been injured plenty of times but man, it really isn't fun. ]
[ He grimaces, grinding his teeth as he lifts his arms to peel the remains of his shirt off. He feels lightheaded, like he’s lost too much blood, and judging by the amount that soaks his jeans and the shirt he’s holding, that’s likely the problem. ]
At this point I think there's more of your blood in my mattress than your body.
[He bundles up the shirt and holds it over those nasty gashes, apologising softly when he presses down hard to keep some pressure on it, and surveys the rest of his body. As much as he can see through the blood at least. If there's enough of him without holes in, he should be okay to lie down right? That'll be fine.]
[ He tries not to hiss, but it hurts, really it does -- a lot. It's raw and angry and deep pulsing little rivulets of blood everytime he takes a breath or moves. ]
[ Nope. No one is every that lucky when it comes to things involving Dean Winchester. Most people fucking die, so be lucky. ]
Sure, sure. Take your time.
[ Dean will just lay here and bleed out, no big. ]
If you've got a sewing kit, I can handle it. [ He's calling out behind Terry, grimacing as he presses on the wound, trying not to look at it, cause it's ugly and torn and oozing. ]
[He's died once already and it wasn't too bad, he'd take that over this probably.]
[Maybe.]
I've got sutures. [He calls back as he vanishes into the bathroom to get his first aid kit, and then under his breath:] Not that I know what to do with them...
[Anyway he's moving fast as he can, coming back quit with the first aid tin. And a video on his phone to explain how to sew a wound. It looks easy enough........................]
[Not answering the whiskey question because they both know he doesn't, though if Dean's gonna keep showing up like this maybe he should keep a bottle.]
[That's a problem for later though. Terry hesitates a moment, wondering what the best way to do this is, and sits back next to Dean to take over. Part of him thinks he should've grabbed more stuff, but he's got a towel and a bottle of water and this medical stuff that part of him is certain you shouldn't be able to just buy on Amazon, but hey. Good thing he did, right?]
How hard can sewing a guy up be anyway? [He starts pulling things out and setting them down on the bed, doing an admirable job of feigning confidence if he says so himself.] Look, I've got you. Just lie down on your side and let me do this.
[ It's words to make conversation, otherwise Dean thinks he really might just pass out. It's been a long fucking night, and really Terry SHOULD keep a bottle on hand, cause Dean seems to be making a habit of intruding. ]
Harder than you think, [ He grunts, leaning back and squeezing his eyes shut. ] You sure you don't have any whiskey?
[Thank god he feigns confidence well, because Terry has only the barest idea what he's doing. There's a lot of things he'd like to do before this, like maybe study more medicine than a first aid course and a youtube video, but he's just gonna have to settle for pushing as much hair out of his face as he can and cleaning his hands with an alcohol wipe.]
How about you don't bleed out in my bed and I'll buy you a bottle tomorrow to celebrate?
[Right. Okay. This is fine. Terry chews his lip in concentration; first he uncaps the water and pours a little bit over the wounds, dabbing it with the towel to clear off enough blood and misc so he can actually see what's going on. Which is awful. It's awful. But mostly he just needs to see which one is biggest before he leans over and gets to work. He doesn't have any of the fancy tools that go with the sutures, but needle and thread in one hand and — ugh — pinching the wound closed with the other, that'll do it. It's like sewing a patch to his jacket. A very fleshy patch to a jacket that is also made of flesh.]
Gee, I'll do my absolute best, despite the war wound I'm sporting.
[ Just think of it that way, Terry. Dump some rubbing alcohol on it and treat it like you're mending a hole in your pants.
Dean grunts when it's pinched together, trying not to flinch away cause it friggin' hurts. A few deep breathes and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Go on then. ]
[There's a strong temptation to slow down when Dean flinches, but intellectually Terry knows that'll only make this whole thing hurt more. So he forges on. Careful not to rush, doing his best not to linger or drag on. He deserves a prize honestly.]
[He's not doing too bad. Like this is deeply uncomfortable and it sucks and certainly cements the fact that he would never survive in medicine, but otherwise it's not too hard to get a rhythm going if he trusts his hands not to fuck this up.]
[That said, what Dean says absolutely makes him pause for a second there.]
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[ So he's making himself some strong coffee while he waits for whatever chaos Dean is bringing with him. ]
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He's leaned against the doorframe, head bowed, an arm curved around his middle. It's stained with blood - both his and not, and it's smeared over his shirt and jeans, and is pooling at the floor by his feet. ]
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[To his credit, Terry doesn't waste any time being surprised. He sees the state Dean is in and immediately moves to duck under Dean's free arm and put an arm around him to take his weight, gentle but firm about guiding him to the bedroom as somewhere in the back of his mind Terry thinks about the state his bed is going to be and quietly mourns his bank balance.]
-- And here I was hoping you were bringing me food.
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Next time I'll stop at McDonald's on the way. Unless you're vegan. You're not vegan are you?
[ He's still got jokes ]
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I don't make enough money to be vegan. Here--
[He tries to get Dean sitting first, just on the edge of the bed so Terry can get his shirt off and see what's happening here. That's the plan, at least, but he half wonders if maybe he should just grab a pair of scissors and get the shirt off that way.]
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[ His shirt is shredded, sticking to the wound in the places where the blood has dried. It hurts to be peeled away, and he hisses in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean's been injured plenty of times but man, it really isn't fun. ]
Careful.
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You know how much this sucks.
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Yeah, I'm kind of aware of the suckiness of the situation, Captain Obvious.
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[Maybe he's a little more forceful than necessary about the next tug of Dean's shirt away from his skin, but otherwise he's doing his best okay.]
You can't get mauled by a mystery beast and show up complaining that I'm hurting you.
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Your bedside manner is actually terrible.
[ He’d have gone to a hospital, but, you know. No insurance, and his fake cards aren’t on him anyway. ]
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[He thinks he's got what he can without agitating the wounds too much, and frowns a little.]
Here, help me get this off you.
[Apparently he needs Dean to move his arms or whatever to actually take his shirt all the way off.]
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[ He grimaces, grinding his teeth as he lifts his arms to peel the remains of his shirt off. He feels lightheaded, like he’s lost too much blood, and judging by the amount that soaks his jeans and the shirt he’s holding, that’s likely the problem. ]
I don’t feel great.
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[He bundles up the shirt and holds it over those nasty gashes, apologising softly when he presses down hard to keep some pressure on it, and surveys the rest of his body. As much as he can see through the blood at least. If there's enough of him without holes in, he should be okay to lie down right? That'll be fine.]
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I think I need stitches.
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[Terry sighs and takes Dean's wrist to direct his hand to that shirt that is just doing so much more work than it signed up for.]
Keep applying pressure. I'm gonna go see what I've got.
[And he's getting up to go get the first aid kit out of the bathroom, bye.]
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Sure, sure. Take your time.
[ Dean will just lay here and bleed out, no big. ]
If you've got a sewing kit, I can handle it. [ He's calling out behind Terry, grimacing as he presses on the wound, trying not to look at it, cause it's ugly and torn and oozing. ]
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[Maybe.]
I've got sutures. [He calls back as he vanishes into the bathroom to get his first aid kit, and then under his breath:] Not that I know what to do with them...
[Anyway he's moving fast as he can, coming back quit with the first aid tin. And a video on his phone to explain how to sew a wound. It looks easy enough........................]
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[ Dean has but the dust a few times - not a fan. Like whatever it’s fine but… he’d rather not. ]
I can handle it, really. Don’t happen to have any whiskey do you?
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[Not answering the whiskey question because they both know he doesn't, though if Dean's gonna keep showing up like this maybe he should keep a bottle.]
[That's a problem for later though. Terry hesitates a moment, wondering what the best way to do this is, and sits back next to Dean to take over. Part of him thinks he should've grabbed more stuff, but he's got a towel and a bottle of water and this medical stuff that part of him is certain you shouldn't be able to just buy on Amazon, but hey. Good thing he did, right?]
How hard can sewing a guy up be anyway? [He starts pulling things out and setting them down on the bed, doing an admirable job of feigning confidence if he says so himself.] Look, I've got you. Just lie down on your side and let me do this.
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Harder than you think, [ He grunts, leaning back and squeezing his eyes shut. ] You sure you don't have any whiskey?
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How about you don't bleed out in my bed and I'll buy you a bottle tomorrow to celebrate?
[Right. Okay. This is fine. Terry chews his lip in concentration; first he uncaps the water and pours a little bit over the wounds, dabbing it with the towel to clear off enough blood and misc so he can actually see what's going on. Which is awful. It's awful. But mostly he just needs to see which one is biggest before he leans over and gets to work. He doesn't have any of the fancy tools that go with the sutures, but needle and thread in one hand and — ugh — pinching the wound closed with the other, that'll do it. It's like sewing a patch to his jacket. A very fleshy patch to a jacket that is also made of flesh.]
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[ Just think of it that way, Terry. Dump some rubbing alcohol on it and treat it like you're mending a hole in your pants.
Dean grunts when it's pinched together, trying not to flinch away cause it friggin' hurts. A few deep breathes and he closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Go on then. ]
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What did this to you anyway?
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[ You got this, kiddo. ]
A friggin' wendigo got a good slash in on me.
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[That said, what Dean says absolutely makes him pause for a second there.]
A wendigo.
[Dean you goober, those aren't real.]
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