Disclaimer: The only thing I own are the ridiculous situations in which I've placed these boys.
Turns out that Gina (or Bobby's "friend with unmentionable benefits", as Sam thinks of her) was right on the money. Bobby emails the information of the rehabbing woman to Sam who quickly makes a couple of inquiries of his own.
Nora and her sister, Beth, live a block down from where Sam and Dean are staying. Nora's the older of the two and the one currently working on getting her new hip up to par. Both in their fifties, both divorced, both very agreeable to help out a poor young man in need.
Sam opens the door and has to take a step back, the two meticulously make-upped women pressed almost flush against the door in an effort to each be the first to make an introduction.
"Beth", says the slightly taller and thinner of the two, as she holds her right hand out and pats her carefully lacquered hair with the other.
Nora stands slightly behind, leaning on an aluminum cane, shooting brief daggers at her sister before turning to Sam and smiling sweetly. "Nora," she says, "usually the quicker one, but a little off my game," she adds, nodding at the unwelcome accessory in her well-manicured right hand.
Sam's dimples make a brief appearance and he stifles his grin quickly, seeing the feral gleam in the sisters' eyes. He steps back, allowing them to make their way into the living room where they quickly descend upon Dean like vultures at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
Dean, the "Poor Thing," is in the process of trying to get his shoes on, anticipating leaving with Sam for his scheduled PT appointment. He flicks his widened eyes to his brother, silently begging for help as Beth coos over his leg and Nora tries to trade war stories.
"Stainless steel and plastic, you believe that?" asks Nora, tapping her new hip, while Dean's lips flap like a fish out of water. "But I have a really great therapist. How about you? You fitting in okay? They taking good care of you?"
Sam makes a scene out of looking at his watch, saying, "Oh wow. You guys should really get going. Don't want to be late for your appointments."
Dean looks relieved until the sisters tell Sam how they'll take good care of his brother (wink, wink) and be sure to introduce him around. Sam has to bite his cheek when Beth practically licks her slightly over-plumped lips.
"Sam," Dean growls, hauling himself to his feet after the women have made their way outside to their waiting car. "What the hell?"
"Don't want to miss your ride," Sam answers blandly.
"You are not handing me over to those….."
"Cougars, Dean," he says with a slow smile. "They're called Cougars."
"Fuck that," he says, adjusting his stance on his crutches. "I'll drive myself."
Sam makes a show of taking in his brother's knee brace, slowly crosses his arms, and says, "No you won't. Not until that thing's unlocked."
Dean narrows his eyes at his brother, silently cursing Sam and his knee with its brace and the wheel well of the Impala that won't accommodate his outstretched leg. He's already tried. "But that's not for another couple of weeks."
"Yep."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Dean briefly considers just ditching his appointment, then reconsiders as the words "permanent limp" shuffle through his brain. Instead, he gives his brother a death glare, then does his best to stomp off, the effect limited by his fumbling with the front door and having to crutch sideways to avoid having the screen door bang into him on the way out.
Sam lets out a slow smile, not even trying to hold back the giddy anticipation over the next few hours of silence and gives a little wave to Dean as he watches his brother awkwardly maneuver himself into the sisters' backseat, batting Beth's hands away as she tries to help him scoot backwards into the car.
Sam's last view of his brother as the car pulls away is Dean's middle finger waving back.
()o()o()o()o()
"Dude, you suck," Dean proclaims loudly as he bangs his way through the door a couple of hours later. He crutches around the downstairs, gives a brief pout when he doesn't find Sam hunched over his computer, and then makes his way back to the bottom of the stairs, straining for any evidence that Sam's somewhere upstairs. Hearing nothing, he heads back to the kitchen where he roots around in the fridge and pulls out the ingredients to make himself a sandwich. His smoking brain has his body's metabolism cranking at higher speeds than usual.
The therapy appointment wasn't all that exciting. Just Tim hooking him up to that stupid machine to get his thigh muscles working again, breaking up the scar tissue around his knee, and doing more range of motion stuff. Boring. He was at least hoping to "get acquainted" with a few of the female members of his new club. Well, more in his age range anyway. Because Nora, and by extension, Beth, while in the rehab club, are not what he had in mind.
He'd been laying it on pretty thick with the cute receptionist after his session when he'd felt a firm squeeze on his backside. He'd jerked enough to throw himself off balance, face reddening as he had to grab onto the chest-level reception desk to keep himself upright. He'd felt a pair of hands tighten around his waist, a giggled "Ooops" emanating from behind his right ear, and he quickly worked to reposition himself on the crutches to turn and face the unwelcome newcomer.
Beth.
The receptionist's eyes had gone wide and then her face blanched as she made herself busy with the paperwork she had just recently assured Dean could wait.
Before he could even eke out a protest, Beth had attached herself to his side and steered him over to a couple of empty chairs in the waiting room, her sister still working with her therapist. He'd caught the receptionist shooting questioning glances their way and when he'd finally realized what she was thinking, his stomach had almost reproduced his breakfast. Because seriously? He's okay with older women. Usually means more experience. But there's older and then there's Older. Beth could be his mother. Gross.
Once that thought had popped into his head, he'd begun to question Sam's true intentions. He could have dropped Dean off and gone to the library. Or hung out in a coffee shop. Or gotten his geek on somewhere else. The question had been tickling his brain ever since he'd pulled away, a captive in the backseat of Beth's car.
And then his eyes had flashed wide as the truth screamed into his brain like a banshee. Sammy's cockblocking me.
"Son of a ….," he'd mumbled, interrupting Beth's diatribe about something or other. Honestly, he'd stopped listening when he'd heard the words "hot flashes". He'd given a brief conciliatory smile, then continued stewing in his newest revelation while adroitly avoiding Beth's wandering hands.
The women, true to their word, had introduced Dean around to the other people in the rehab center and while he's always been a people person, he couldn't quite get excited about this social event. Because the majority of the people there were in the "nearing retirement" age bracket. He'd tried to throw out a few winks to the handful of attractive females his own age (a couple of therapists and another patient), but the sisters had seemed to create a force field around him, effectively repelling any return female attention.
Outwardly, he'd been all sweet smiles and charm. He'd thanked the sisters profusely for the ride and promised to take them up on that offer for coffee and Nora's homemade apple pie.
But back in the safety of the house, he's plotting Sam's slow and painful death. He balances himself against the counter, slowly chewing his sandwich and wondering how Sam would look with a shaved head. He's got to be careful though. He needs Sam's help until he's off the crutches. Can't piss off one of the only things standing between him and a fully functioning leg.
Payback's a bitch Sammy. Just like you.
()o()o()o()o()
Sam's eyes slowly open and he draws a hand across his mouth, cringing at the damp string of drool that clings to the back of his fingers. He glances at his watch and gives a start, mentally calculating that Dean's appointment ended a little over two hours ago.
He gathers his belongings from where they lay scattered across the table in the library – he'd set himself up in a back corner just after Dean left, having scouted the place out soon after arriving in town. While he could have accomplished his task at the house, he just needed to get out of there for a couple of hours and nothing makes him happier than being surrounded by books.
Besides, he figures Dean might need some cool-down time when he gets back. Especially if he's worked out Sam's intentions. And he probably has. His brother's always been quick on the draw when it comes to anything involving the fairer sex. Sam chuckles, thinking of the rather unfair position in which he's placed his brother – he really doesn't stand a chance with Beth and Nora.
()o()o()o()o()
"Honey, I'm home!" Sam yells rather cheerfully upon entering the house. "Hey!" he says to Dean when he sees him lying on the floor doing leg lifts.
"Hey yourself," he grunts back, head falling to the floor in relief when he's finished his exercise set for the afternoon. He holds his arms out to Sam in a nonverbal request for help, too tired to struggle upright on his own right now. He can tell Sam's practically bursting at the seams, wanting to ask how his appointment went, but Dean ignores him, figures that curiosity killed the cat. Maybe it'll kill his brother too.
Instead, he feigns indifference and asks for Sam's help in another task. "Dude," he says, getting his crutches under his armpits. "I need a shower." Sam glances back, sniffs in his general direction, and quickly agrees.
He follows his brother's slow progress up the stairs, hovering behind him in case of a misstep, and lets out an inaudible breath when they reach Dean's room. Dean scoots himself onto his bed (again Sam tries not to think of the things that bed has seen, considers Dean's probably not making it any better) and guides his braced leg up next to his good one. Sam makes quick work of getting his leg waterproofed, having had way too much practice for his liking, wrapping his brother's leg in a garbage bag, hole in the bottom for his foot to poke through and sealing it with Duct Tape at both ends to prevent any leakage. Thankfully they won't have to do this again (unless Dean does something stupid, which, Sam notes, is not out of the realm of possibilities), since his stitches are scheduled to come out at his next post-op appointment in another couple of days.
Dean crutches over to the bathroom, reassuring Sam that he can handle things from here, thank you very much. He wriggles out of the boxers he'd kept on while Sam was wrapping his leg, gripping the sink and wall for support, and then makes his way over to the shower. He eyes the shower chair Sam has oh-so-thoughtfully picked up, hating the necessity of it while acknowledging it all the same. It's just not worth the risk of a fall and a re-injury. He'd really rather never go through this again. Ever.
He cautiously eases his way into the tub, gets himself situated on the chair, then lets out a rather emotive groan of pleasure as he leans forwards, letting the hot water massage the crutch-induced knots out of his shoulders.
He takes his time, enjoying a tub without questionable rust rings or threat of foot fungus, and gets himself as squeaky clean as he can. He reverses his previous maneuvers to get himself out of the shower, cursing when he realizes he's forgotten to bring clean clothes in with him.
So he wraps the towel around his waist and hopes to God it stays in place, unable to make a grab for it if it decides to head south since his hands are otherwise occupied with his crutches.
As it turns out, it wouldn't have mattered anyways, Sam's not upstairs anymore; he gets himself into a pair of boxers and then bellows for his brother to help break him out of his Duct Tape jail.
The brothers stare at Dean's leg where it lies outstretched on the flowered duvet, the garbage bag and tape having been successfully removed. Next step: dressing changes. Dean glances at Sam who's studying the thing like there will be a pop quiz later on. Dean rolls his eyes and then begins to unstrap the Velcro of his brace, tightening his jaw a bit as Sam gently lifts his ankle, careful to keep his leg straight, and slides the brace out from under his leg. Dean makes short work of the underlying ACE wrap and both brothers are relieved to see that the swelling and color palate are finally returning to normal.
"Hey," Dean says in a sarcastically cheerful voice, "what do you know – it looks like a knee again!"
()o()o()o()o()
"Hey Sam," Dean asks from where he's reclined on the paisley couch.
"Yeah?" his brother replies absentmindedly, totally absorbed in what he's doing on his computer.
Dean gives a brief smirk which goes unnoticed by Sam, then puts his best pained expression on his face. "Can you do me a favor?" Sam glances up, the tone of Dean's voice kicking up his brother/protector mode.
"What's up? You okay?" he asks, zeroing in on his brother.
"Yeah," Dean says, wincing convincingly as he adjusts his leg on its pillows. "It's just," he begins, then halts, reeling Sammy in with his act. "Never mind." He makes a show of beginning to struggle to his feet and Sam huffs out a breath, closes his laptop and gets to his own feet.
"Dean," he says, coming out to the living room and glowering with all of his 6 foot 4 inch frame. "Sit." He gives a smirk. "Stay. Good boy." He tries to pat Dean on the head and his brother swats his hand away, ducking out of reach from where he's stretched back out on the couch.
Dean scowls at him, sure he's got his brother on the hook now. "Fine."
"What do you need?" Sam reiterates.
"Can you go down to Nora and Beth's for me? I said I'd stop over today, they needed something fixed. But I'm not really feeling up to it, you know?" He gives his brother his sheepish look and Sam lets out another huff.
"Sure man, no problem." He gives his brother another staying glance and then heads out the door.
Dean lets out a chuckle after his brother's well out of the house. In truth, he was supposed to go over to the sisters' house for pie and coffee. And while the pie does interest him, there's no way in hell he's setting foot in that house. Nora's not so bad, but Beth, man…. He didn't know one person could have so many hands.
()o()o()o()o()
"Hey Bobby!" Dean figures he'll check in with the older hunter, see if he can help him fill some of the spare time he's got on his hands while he's out of commission. Plus, he just needs someone other than Sam to talk to.
"Hey kiddo. How's things?" Bobby's gruff voice is a welcome change and Dean can't keep the smile from creeping over his face. Something he'd be more careful with if the grizzled hunter could actually see him.
"Okay," he says simply. "Leg's not hurting much anymore. Swelling's gone down. Still stuck with the damned crutches," he grumbles, throwing his hated supports a glare. "And I will not be sorry to never see this couch again," he adds, afraid he'll be having paisley nightmares for the rest of his life.
"Oh, that thing ain't so bad," Bobby says.
"And the wallpaper in the bedroom man," Dean continues, now that he has an open ear for his complaints; because Sam just ignores him. "Looks like someone puked flowers in there."
Bobby pauses and Dean can hear him taking a pull from what he thinks is probably a bottle of beer. "How's the bed?" he asks but doesn't allow Dean to answer. "Comfy ain't it?" he states more than questions.
Dean's brain practically squeals to a halt, rewinds through everything he knows about where they're staying. And everything he doesn't.
Sam generously giving him the master bedroom "because you need the room for your crutches". The mug in the kitchen he now remembers definitely giving to Bobby one sappy holiday or another. Nora and Beth's references to Gina, who's out of the country on sabbatical and "that crusty trucker man she's been slumming it with recently".
"Dammit Bobby!" Dean cries out, recoiling at the horror of what he's just realized. "Now I have to go poke my eyes out."
"Might want to burn the sheets while you're at it," Bobby chuckles. "That woman sure is flexible."
Dean snaps the phone shut, trying to keep his stomach contents in their proper place.
()o()o()o()o()
Dean hears the door close and makes his careful way downstairs. He almost wishes he'd gone with Sam, he's so bored. His brother's been gone for over three hours.
He heads into the kitchen where he finds Sam mainlining from a bottle of Jack. Dean's eagle eye takes in his brother's shell-shocked look and doesn't fail to notice the smear of color on his collar. He looks closer and works hard to stifle a laugh. Beth wears a garish color of red, Nora a more muted mauve. And Sam's collar is graced with a slash of each.
Sam doesn't talk to his brother the rest of the night.
()o()o()o()o()
"Oh man, Beth's latched onto you good, hasn't she?" Tim chuckles, shaking his head as he gently massages the muscles around Dean's knee.
Dean gives him a scowl, more at his therapists' conversational choice than at the discomfort he's evoking.
"Man, those two," Tim continues, changing his position to work Dean's knee through its range of motion. He glances to where Nora's working with her own therapist, then lowers his voice. "They're almost legends around here. Beth was here about a year ago after a back injury," he shudders, recalling the stories that later circulated regarding how she'd actually injured her back; it was not proper for polite company. "I'm just thankful you're here this time. Cause last time, it was me and Josh she was all over." In fact, the two therapists were considering offering to take Dean out for drinks as a Thank You for distracting Beth during her sister's appointments. There had actually been groans echoing through the department when Nora's name had popped up on the schedule.
"Glad to help," Dean says, his facial expression and tone of voice saying otherwise. "How do we get it to stop?"
Sam's taken up acting as chauffer again, now aware of what his brother's had to put up with in a one-on-one situation with the sisters. And it turns out that Nora's got her sights on Sam just as much as Beth's eyeing Dean like the last piece of pie at Thanksgiving.
So both of the boys are up Shit Creek.
Tim laughs again, hooking Dean's leg up to the stim machine he's come to loathe – makes his thigh jump around like a dying fish. "Oh, not much of anything. Besides getting healthy and moving out of town."
Dean wonders how much Sam would actually fight him if he suggested completing his rehab closer to Bobby.
To Be Continued…
