[ Santana is back with the Tylenol, the bandages, and a plastic café cup and straw of water. Shit, that’s a lot of blood. There’s — a lot going on. Does Santana treat the pain first, or the bleeding? The medical manual is pretty much cast aside at this point — Santana isn’t sure she’d be able to summon the focus to read something.

Santana removes the spatula, pointedly not looking at the bite marks, then replaces it with two Tylenol (he probably needs more, but Santana isn’t confident he’ll be able to swallow more than that) and holds the straw up to his lips. ]

Drink. Then bandages.

[ If Stephen does as he’s told, Santana will set the cup down and begin working on bandaging, starting with whichever arm had more glass in it. The pressure likely hurts, but Santana doesn’t want to risk any more blood loss — not when Stephen’s that pale. She’s still muttering to herself, keeping herself grounded: ]

Come on, yep, you’ve got this, everything’s fine, it’s fine, Dad’s done worse, you’re a bad bitch, come on —