An agreeable hum rumbled from his throat as he concentrated on not sloshing the whiskey everywhere. Instead, steady hands poured a small stream over each laceration on her arm, excess liquid dripping onto the towel. Thankfully it seemed only two of the wounds on the arm he was tending to would need stitches, the rest could probably get by with butterfly tape.<br/><br/>Setting the still three-quarter full bottle onto the bedside table, he picked up the needle and gently turned her arm so he could see better. A glance at her told him it might be better to just get to it. Dean slipped the needle through her skin as painless as he could manage, slowly making his way along the cut. He made sure to keep silently checking on her; if she needed him to stop, he would.