"Kira!" Sam yelled walking, Dean in his arms, up to the motel office door. "KIRA!!
She came running to the door, clad in shorts and a tank top.
"Sam! Oh, what happened?"
"Dean got stabbed," he said breathlessly. "I need your help."
"Anything."
"Key cards in my right jacket pocket." He said, lifting unconscious Dean higher in his arms, so she could get the card.
"Got it." She raced to the door ahead of Sam, slid the card and had the door wide open waiting.
"Where do you want him?"
"Bathroom floor." Kira flicked on lights and grabbed Dean's pillow. Sam eased to his knees on the blue ands white linoleum, and lay down a now shaking Dean; staining the clean floor crimson. Kira gasped. Sam's jacket and shirt were covered in blood.
"Kira, listen carefully. I need the med kit out of the trunk of the Impala. The keys are on the stand by the door." Luckily the med kit was on top of the divider in the trunk. Kira knew what the boys did, but she didn't need to see what they did it with.
"Dean?" Sam checked his pulse. It was getting weaker. Blood had pooled under his back. Sam pulled off the blood-soaked leather, and ripped open his black t-shirt. He revealed a jagged stab wound about an inch long. Rolling Dean slightly, he noticed the exit wound below his shoulder blade. Kira raced into the room with the med kit. She sat it down by Sam and grabbed two pristine towels off the rack. Leaving one folded neatly, she placed it under Dean's back. Sam laid his brother back, counting on his body weight to apply pressure.
"What else do you need?"
Minibar. Vodka or something hard. I need to clean this before I can stitch it. She ran to the bedroom and emptied the little refrigerator. Coming back to Sam's side, she put down four little bottles of Vodka. Sam cracked the seal on one, and poured it over the wound. Dean's eyes snapped open as he screamed and his back arched.
"Dean, stop! Kira, give him a bottle." Kira cracked the seal on another bottle and tipped it to Dean's lips. He gulped it down gratefully, and passed out. Sam was digging for a suture kit with shaking, blood stained hands. Kira grasped one of them in her own.
"Sam, he needs you strong. Let me help."
"We need to slow the bleeding. Kira took the other towel she had, without being asked and applied pressure to the wound. Vodka mixing with fresh blood stained the white towel a sickening pink. Sam opened the third bottle of Vodka, removing everything from the suture kit's plastic tray. He poured the Vodka in and threaded the cotton string through the impossibly tiny eye of the needle like an expert. He laid the assembly in the tray.
Kira, maintaining the pressure to Dean's chest, eyed Sam. "You've done that before." She made it a statement, and wondered how many injuries he's patched in his life.
"Too many."
"What's next?"
Sam checked Dean's pulse. "He's out cold. At least the stitches won't hurt going in." Sam took over the towel Kira was holding. It hadn't soaked completely through with Dean's blood. That meant the blood loss was slowing.
"I think I can stitch him up now." Kira sat back and watched Sam work. His big hands were the gentlest thing she'd ever seen. His face was pinched in worry and concentration. Ten stitches later it was time for the exit wound. Sam dusted a yellow antibiotic powder liberally on the wound and covered it with gauze, taped securely in place.
He took a breath and met Kira's gaze. He was exhausted and had a bruise darkening on his right cheekbone.
"Help me roll him over." Kira got Dean's legs at the thigh while Sam got his head and shoulders, rolling him over on the linoleum. Kira ran a hand soothingly over Dean's cheek when he flinched.
"Don't let him wake up, now." Sam muttered. Dean quieted under Kira's touch. Sam again cleaned, stitched, and dressed the wound.
"Dean's not gonna like this one bit." He said reaching into the med kit. He withdrew two syringes and two tiny vials.
"What's that?
"One's an antibiotic and the other's a tetanus booster. He always bitches when he has to get one. He hates needles." Sam smiled a little. "Serves you right for getting drunk, jerk." He said teasingly to Dean, giving him the shots.
Dean, even in his Vodka/beer/pain induced slumber, flinched and mumbled, "Bitch."