[ There's the slightest roll of his eyes at that comment. No need to add to it though, and Castiel cups the back of his arm with a hand, the thumb of his other carefully pulling apart the damaged skin to check the depth of the wound; it goes straight to the muscle, blood welling to the surface. He eases up and presses his lips together, thinning them. ]

Stitches. [ It's a quiet confirmation, twisting to dig through the box for what he needs now. Clean it first, sew it up after. ] If you don't like them, you shouldn't be so careless.

[ Despite the fact it's what they should be doing. Castiel is still hesitant about it though, wondering why COMPASS would bother to make a point with them. Besides, if they kill them and put an end to whatever experiments are at hand, what would that mean for them? Would they be sent home? Would they die? The slightest shake goes up his arm, and he curls his fingers tight--right around the bottle of antiseptic. ]

And hunting them isn't going to solve anything. It could be worse next time - even if I went. [ Even if they're good together in a fight. He gently waves the bottle at him. ] Get on the table.

[ As they don't have any chairs and he need him to stay still, it's the closest flat surface they have. ]