The First Time I Got Shot
The first time I ever got shot I was 19 years old. I was on a hunt with John and Dean. We snuck into a house late one night while the family was out to check for EMF and maybe find out what was causing the pile up of dead animals that kept appearing in the backyard.
Unfortunately, the house wasn't empty as we had suspected. The father of the family was asleep when we snuck in the backdoor. Our talking had woken him up and he came down the stairs to find the three police officers he'd spoken to earlier sneaking around his house.
It just so happens Mr. Leonard was a shoot first ask questions later kind of guy. And none of us noticed him until the gun cocked.
"Get the hell out of my house!" he yelled behind me. John and Dean froze staring behind me wide eyed at the gun I knew was likely pointed at me.
"Now, hold on a second," John tried.
"Three seconds!"
"We're the police. Put the gun down."
"I said get out!" he yelled and I turned in time to see him pull the trigger and felt the bullet tear into my skin.
"Red!" Dean called jumping the coffee table and coming over to me.
The rest was a blur as he carried me out and John tackled the man to the ground, knocking him unconscious. Every step Dean took towards the car with me in his arms sent a jolt through me that made me want to vomit. I gripped onto Dean and let out a cry of pain when he shifted me higher into his arms.
"Hold on, Red. We're gonna get you out of here," Dean assured.
"Dean," I whined begging him to make it better.
"I got ya, sweetheart. It's not bad. We can fix it."
"Get her in the car!" John called running up to us. Dean was working on doing just that. He slid into the backseat with me and John tore down the street. Dean held me with one arm wrapped around me supporting me and the other holding a rag to the wound.
"Where'd it hit?" John asked.
"Her shoulder. It didn't go through," Dean told his dad.
The bullet hole felt like it was on fire. The rag against it stung and I felt like I might pass out or throw up at any moment. I'd never felt anything quite like a bullet wound before.
We got to the hotel and I wanted desperately to walk myself in the room but even if Dean had let me I doubt I could have. He sat me on a bed and John pulled the medical supplies from the bag. He cut the sleeve of my shirt to the collar to expose the wound.
"Dean, get me some alcohol," John demanded.
"Yes, sir," Dean answered and went to the bag and pulled out some whiskey.
After John had everything set up I fought to stay awake. I saw him come towards my shoulder and then I screamed out as he started to dig the bullet out.
"Calm her down," John demanded. Dean sat behind me on the bed and pulled me against him. John went back to digging out the bullet and I tried to squirm but Dean held me still.
"Shh. This is the worst part, I promise," he assured me talking into my ear. "I got ya, girl."
"Got it," John said pulling the bullet free and letting it fall to the table.
"Just gotta sew me up, right?" I asked. I had been sewed up by the Winchester and myself plenty of times. I wasn't afraid of a few homemade stitches.
"Yeah," John said and poured some whiskey over the wound without warning. I let out another yelp and grabbed Dean's leg digging my fingers into the thigh as the whiskey ran over all the exposed tissue.
"Dammit, hurry up!" I cussed.
"Watch your mouth," John warned.
"I'm going to puke if you don't hurry."
John didn't argue and pulled out the needle and dental floss. He started sewing the hole together and I kept my eyes shut tight against the pain. But honestly compared to earlier this was a piece of cake.
"You're done. Wrap it up, Dean," John said stepping away and cleaning up the medical supplies.
When Dean moved from behind me I nearly fell backwards but caught myself staying upright so he could wrap my shoulder.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
"Hell no. That hurt. That still hurts. How do you guys do it?"
"The first gunshot wound is always the worst," John explained. "Hopefully you won't have anymore. But if you do, you'll know what to expect."
John was right. That one had been the worst. But it hadn't been the last.