Self-Medication

What is wrong with him, I groan to myself, frustration and pain etched on my face as I glance in the rearview mirror, watching Dean's Impala tail me. I don't think I'm gonna make it to the clinic, not with him hot on my heels. I can feel my strength ebbing away, my vision blurring at the edges, and I know I need to act fast. I quickly scan my surroundings, looking for a place to pull over and tend to my wound. I spot an old, deserted road on my right and make a split-second decision to pull off. The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I drive down the worn-out road, the trees and bushes closing in around me like sentinels. I pull over to the side of the road, the engine sputtering to a stop. I let out a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, but my heart is still racing. I grab my first aid kit from the backseat, my movements slow and deliberate as I try not to jostle my wounded side. I also grab a bottle of whiskey from the glove compartment, the amber liquid glowing in the fading light. "Looks like I'm doing it myself," I groan, a wry smile twisting my lips. I unscrew the bottle and take a swig, feeling the liquor burn its way down my throat. I grimace, but I know I need something to take the edge off. The pain is getting worse by the minute, and I can feel myself getting weaker. I gingerly open the first aid kit and pull out a pair of scissors, a gauze pad, and some antiseptic wipes. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. I carefully cut away the bloody clothes around my wound, wincing as the fabric sticks to my skin. I can feel a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead as I work, my hands shaking slightly. I pour some antiseptic solution onto the gauze pad and apply it to my wound, trying not to think about how much it's going to hurt. The stinging sensation makes me gasp, but I grit my teeth and continue to clean and dress the wound as best I can. It's not going to be perfect, but it's better than nothing. As I work, I can hear the sound of Dean's Impala driving by, the engine roaring as he slows down to see if I'm still on the road. I hold my breath, hoping he won't spot me. After what feels like an eternity, he drives off, and I'm left in silence. I take another swig of whiskey, feeling a little more numb, a little more able to cope with the pain. I glance around, taking in my surroundings. The trees seem to loom over me, casting long, ominous shadows on the ground. I shiver, despite the warmth of the evening, and wonder if I'm really safe here. For now, though, it's the best I can do. I sit back against the car, trying to rest and recover, but my mind is still racing, thinking about Dean, and what he's capable of.