Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the ridiculous situations in which I've placed these boys.
Dean really hates his wheelchair. Hates what it represents. Hates his dependence and physical limitations. Hates the pitying glances people throw his way before quickly averting their eyes.
Although sometimes his new vantage point does have its high points. Like the unlimited views of women's asses.
His eyes trail along following the progress of a particularly pert backside as it crosses through his field of vision, earning him a smack on the back of the head from Laura. The two of them are headed to the coffee shop down the street from their apartment and her office, both a concerted effort on Dean's part to start getting out of the apartment more and on Laura's part to try to repay the efforts of the brothers Winchester in ridding her office of her brother's ghost.
"Don't ogle," she says, her manner implying this isn't the first male she's had to try to corral.
"Hey. I don't have much left. Ogling's about all I can do."
She throws him an exasperated glance and rolls her eyes, then holds the door open for him as he wheels himself inside.
"Can you order for me?" she asks, the question more of a rhetorical one given the fact that she's already halfway to the restroom. They've been coming here several times a week for the past couple of weeks and by now the baristas could probably place the orders themselves if they had to.
He just gives a nod, thankful that the coffee shop isn't too crowded right now. He's working on going out in public more but it's still much easier when there's someone by his side. Doesn't take away the lingering stares but at least it makes him feel a little less like a freak when he's not alone.
"Oh, hey Dean!" the barista greets him once he's reached the head of the line.
"Hey Carla – how's things?" he asks the young woman who waits on him on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
"You know, living the dream," she says with a shrug and smile. "The usual?"
"Yep. Two."
"The other for Sam or you got a hot date?"
His face reddens a bit at the question, something he's still not used to – he's never been embarrassed about the opposite sex. But things are different now. He's different now.
Not that he and Laura are anything other than friends. But Sam keeps busting his balls about the same damn thing. Thinks that by going out for coffee, there might be something more there. But there's not. Not that he knows about anyway. He's just trying to rejoin the land of the living. And Laura's past, while still somewhat murky, hasn't been screaming that she's looking for anything either.
"It's just me," says Laura, sidling up next to Dean.
"Hey Laura."
Dean catches the slight change on Carla's face, an expression he's seen women wear when they're sizing up another to determine their competition. He stifles a small smile and can't stop the wink his eye gives Carla, a reflex from his bygone lady killer days.
It's her turn to blush as she pushes the coffees over to them and he notes the feeling of relief at knowing that he's still got at least a little something left in the Dean Winchester mojo tank.
Laura picks up their coffees, oblivious to the small display playing out in front of her, and takes them over to an empty table in the corner. She automatically moves a chair over to another table, allowing Dean to wheel himself into the now empty space, before she settles into her own chair across from him and takes a few sips of the liquid magic she's come to appreciate from this place.
Dean, meanwhile, is busy trying to extract a straw from the side pocket of his chair, the squirrely little devil not wanting to become the sacrifice to Dean's coffee this morning. He gives a barely audible low growl as he works to trap the straw against the side of the pocket, slowly working it upwards with his right arm. When it finally emerges, he has to twist himself in order to get the straw clasped between both his stumps, but he does, plopping the adaptive necessity into his coffee with a flourish.
"Oh thank God," he says after he takes a few sips of his own drink. He'd been on the verge of asking Laura for help and while he knows she would have given it without any judgement, the fact that he even has to ask for help with such basic tasks still galls him.
It's such a shift from their upbringing. The self-sufficient, "we don't need any charity" life he and Sam had been accustomed to exchanged for one in which he's reliant upon others for several of his daily needs.
He really hopes his dad can't see him now from wherever it is he's spending eternity.
"You okay?" Laura asks, not failing to notice the rather despondent expression on the face of her table mate.
"Yeah," he says with a sigh that negates the actual words.
"Well that was convincing," she says sarcastically. "Anything I can do?"
Not wanting to let her in on the little party he'd been throwing himself, he roots around in his brain for another possible explanation, stumbling rather conveniently upon Sam's issues. He'd much rather discuss Sam's issues than his own, especially since he's not here to defend himself.
"I'm just worried about Sam is all," he finally says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in an attempt to keep his nervous gesture from making an appearance.
"Because…" she prompts, settling back in her own chair to listen.
Dean contemplates just how much to tell her. Because he really is concerned about Sam. He can see what keeping everything bottled up inside is doing to his little brother. The jitteriness; the utter exhaustion; the wounded look in his eyes.
And Dean's pretty sure he's the one causing it.
And he's torn. Torn between his loyalty to Sam and his concern for his little brother. They've both been through so much shit in their short lives, shit that no one else could even come close to understanding. And in a way he owes it to Sam to keep a lid on things, to keep his confidences.
But on the other hand, he really needs to figure out a way to get Sam to talk about it. And so far, he's been unsuccessful.
Sometimes he wonders if he'll have to begin to worry about Sam doing Something just like Sam worries about him doing Something.
So he takes a deep breath and tells Laura just enough to bring her up to speed on his concern for Sam, being careful not to open up too many cans of worms that he might regret later on.
"You think he has survivor's guilt?" she asks when he's provided an outline of Sam's symptoms.
"But I survived."
She makes a point of taking in his arm stumps and his wheelchair, nonverbally challenging the truth of his statement. "What really happened?"
Dean again considers how much to divulge to this relative stranger. Granted, one who knows more about their real lives than most other people, but still. Trust isn't something the Winchesters often extend beyond themselves. They've too often had plans go to shit when someone new was taken into the fold. But things are different now. And Dean needs all the help with Sam that he can get.
And so he gives Laura the bare-bones sketch of the Black Dog hunt, what flashes he can remember, anyway. "But I'm pretty sure Sam remembers the whole thing." He chews his lip again, awaiting her response.
"Can't say I'm all that surprised," she finally says, head cocked to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face.
He quirks an eyebrow at her, silently inviting her to explain further, which she does.
"If he saw the entirety of the attack, I might even say he's holding up damn well. I'd think that would be more than enough to put a normal person in the looney bin for life."
Dean gives a snort, then adds, "Sam is far from normal."
Laura gives a small smile, the connection between the two brothers so much a reminder of the one she had with Brian before his death.
"Anything I can do?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "You mean short of locking us in a room together and giving him truth serum?" His face softens and he gives her a sad little smile. "No. But thanks for the offer. He's my brother. I'll figure something out." Even if it does kill me. Or him.
()()()()()()()()
"So," Sam says, a teasing smile on his face, "coffee with Laura again, huh?"
Dean just rolls his eyes at his brother, regretting his decision to fill Sam in on his day over their dinner.
Sam wags his eyebrows, causing Dean to furrow his own, equal parts exasperation at his brother and concentration on trying to get the slippery piece of ravioli speared onto his fork.
"Was it like a date?" Sam can barely hide the excitement from his voice. He's never been one to show interest in Dean's conquests. Quite the opposite, in fact. But this is different. Dean's different.
Dean looks up at Sam, a confused look on his face. "What?"
Sam follows his brothers internal dialogue as his face flickers over the question. Holy Crap. Was it a date? No. Was it? No. But was it?
Dean finally shakes his head, exasperated that Sam's perhaps brought a level of awkwardness to his new friendship.
"Shut up, Bitch."
Sam just smirks, content to see his brother getting out a little more. Dean's never been one to shy away from the public eye. Quite the opposite, in fact. Especially when that eye is connected to someone of the female persuasion. And while he doesn't really think there's anything going on between Laura and his brother, it's rare that he gets to tease Dean about the opposite sex. So he'll take whatever opportunity he can get, especially if it lends itself to "normal" conversation.
Because nothing in their lives is normal anymore. He's made sure of that. And while he still thinks he would have made the same choice if he had it to do over again, it doesn't make him hate himself any less.
TBC…
Author's Note: Thanks so much for your reviews and your kind words of encouragement – I love them all (and you)!