Nightshift 37: Cafeteria

[arc_wrench]

[from here]

HK was glad to get out of the Sun Room. Not because he was scared of ghosts, of course. But anything that he couldn't stab was never going to be a favorite for him. It just wasn't fair.

Well, maybe if anything decided to try and menace them in here, he could happily disassemble it with his scalpels.

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[theroadsofar]

[From here]

Dean dragged himself the last couple of feet through the cafeteria doors, getting far enough to half-lean, half-slump against one of the cafeteria tables as he caught his breath. If anything was dogging him, he'd pretty much left a big, bloody "here I am" trail on the floor that even a five year-old could follow. There was no way he'd make it in one go to the kitchen. Everything hit him at once: exhaustion, that cold night at the crossroads, Sammy, the dizziness from the blood loss, all the questions he had and jack in the way of answers. Dean had to stop. He wasn't Dad.

The floor tilted but he gamely clung on, focusing on what he'd been trained from day one to do. Find which injuries he'd have to make priorities, make a compress, apply pressure with it over the wounds, and tie. Dean's face was a mask of blood as he leaned up against the table, struggling to shrug out of his jacket so he could better see the gashes, the flashlight propped up by his knee so he could see what he was doing. It was with bloody hands that he pulled up his shirt, the gray material blackened in spots from where the deep cuts bled through.