Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural, but we sure do love Sam and Dean.
*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.
Not Right Now
Chapter 7
Sam winced as a loud crash sounded on the other end of the phone. "You okay, Bobby?" he asked, his voice rough from his tears.
"Yeah, just took care of a poltergeist. What's wrong, Sam?" The hunter could tell that something wasn't right; the Winchester boys were like sons to him and he had known them very well for years.
"It's Dean," Sam managed, clearing his throat as it threatened to clog with emotion once again.
"What kind of mess has that fool brother of yours gotten himself into this time?" Bobby asked with gruff affection.
Sam swallowed hard. "Bobby, Dean hurt his back. He can't walk."
"How permanent are we talking, Sam?" the older hunter asked, suddenly serious and concerned.
Sam could imagine the pained look on Bobby's face. "The doctor said that we won't know the extent of the damage until the swelling goes away. It's going to take a lot of physical therapy to get Dean back to one hundred percent even if there was no damage."
Bobby sighed. "I'm sure your brother isn't taking this very well." He frowned as he thought of the independent older Winchester brother who always liked to be in control of his life and the situation.
"That's an understatement," Sam admitted. "It's beginning to wear on me, too. Dean's just…..he's…..I think he's going to give up, Bobby."
Bobby heard the unspoken plea in the words. "Let me clean up here and then I'll head your way. Where are ya?"
After telling Bobby how to find them, Sam hung up the phone. He let out a slow, shaky breath and leaned his head back against the Impala's headrest. He knew he needed to go back inside the small apartment to check on his brother, but he didn't have the energy or the motivation. "Dean, why do you have to be so stubborn?" he growled under his breath as he flung the Impala's door open and stepped out, stretching muscles stiff from being scrunched up inside of the classic car.
In the apartment, Dean shifted uncomfortably and looked at the clock. Sam had been gone a long time. At first, Dean welcomed the break from Sam's smothering and fussing, but now he had to go to the bathroom. He knew he couldn't wait any longer.
Dean cast a look at the cell phone that rested on the bedside table and cringed at the idea of asking Sam for help. He didn't need his little brother babying him. Dean grasped his crutches and positioned himself on the side of the bed. Sweat was already beginning to bead on his forehead from the effort of maneuvering his heavy legs over the side of the mattress. His legs were refusing to obey his brain.
Biting his lower lip, Dean managed three clumsy steps across the floor. His arms quaked with the effort. With a curse of frustration, Dean's legs gave out completely and he tumbled onto the floor, his head crashing against the doorframe.
Blearily, Dean blinked and used a shaking hand to wipe the blood from his head out of his eyes. He groaned in horror as he felt a wet puddle of urine spreading beneath him and then he further soiled himself. Shame roiled through him, the force of it nearly suffocating. At that moment, Dean wanted to die. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone. He longed for some supernatural creature to come tear him limb from limb before Sam returned.
The sound of a key in the door made his heart stutter in his chest. Sam was back. Dean wiped more blood from his eyes and hardened his heart to face his brother. He couldn't stand the thought of Sam's sympathy.
Physical and emotional exhaustion tugged at Sam as he entered the apartment. He tossed the keys on the counter and mentally prepared himself to face his brother. As he neared the bedroom, the tang of urine, feces, and blood entered his nostrils. "Dean!" he cried as he surged forward and rounded the corner into the bedroom.
"Dean," he groaned, more softly this time as he hurried to his brother's side. "Where are you hurt?" His heart lurched at the sight of the blood that surrounded his brother.
Dean clamped his lips shut in stubborn pride.
Sam puffed a frustrated sigh through his lips. "Let me help you up. You should have called me." He worked hard to keep an accusing tone from his voice.
Dean's jaw tightened in anger, but he didn't answer.
Sam didn't expect him to. Instead, he helped him into the bathroom and settled him on the toilet. After making sure his brother was steady, he grabbed a washcloth and wet it at the faucet before using it to wipe away the blood that covered his brother's face. It took several swipes before Sam could clearly see the cut that paralleled his brother's hairline. "You need stitches, dude." Then he checked Dean's eyes. "But it looks like no concussion."
Dean didn't answer and Sam mentally counted to ten. "How about a quick shower first?" he asked.
When Dean still didn't respond, Sam took that for a yes. He worked to rid his brother of the soiled clothing and managed to keep from making a face at the smell. Dean shucked off his own shirt and Sam helped him step into the shower stall and get settled onto the special white plastic stool they'd bought.
Dean silently washed his upper body and most of his legs. Sam only had to help him a little bit these days. Once the water had been turned off, Sam toweled his brother dry and helped him out of the shower and to the bed. It wasn't long before Dean was dressed in fresh boxers and a soft t-shirt.
He collapsed back onto the pillows in exhaustion and winced as Sam probed the cut on his head.
"We need to take care of that, Dean," Sam sighed. "Let me get the first aid kit."
Dean closed his eyes and listened as his brother padded across the floor to the bathroom. He heard the cabinet door open and shut and then Sam's returning footsteps. The bed dipped as Sam sat down and once again cool fingers examined the cut on his head. Shame spiraled through Dean. This shouldn't be happening. It was his job to take care of Sam. His baby brother shouldn't have to be waiting on him hand and foot. Frustration welled up in him and he felt heat flare in his cheeks.
"It will only take a few stitches," Sam guessed with a practiced eye. "I'll be quick."
Dean felt the first prick of the needle in his skin and grunted, his fingers tightening on the sheets. He hated this. He was useless.
Sam worked quickly and efficiently and soon he tied off the last stitch. "There, all done." He sat back and surveyed his work. "Shouldn't even leave a scar for you to boast about to the ladies."
Dean's throat worked. What woman would want him now? He was useless and the sooner Sam realized that, the better. He felt his brother stand up from the bed and heard him retreat into the bathroom to put the first aid kit away. The water began to run as Sam washed his hands and cleaned up the mess they'd made in the bathroom.
The smell of the soiled floor made Dean want to gag. He flung his arm over his eyes and tried his best to block out the world around him.
He must have fallen asleep. When he woke up, the room smelled much better. Turning his head, he realized that the floor was now clean. A glass of water and some Tylenol sat on the bedside table next to him. Dean turned his head and regretted it when it the pounding began in his skull.
He hauled himself to a sitting position against his pillows with shaking arms and reached for the pill bottle. Dumping two of the white tablets into his hand, he popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down with greedy gulps of water before a noise in the doorway caught his attention.
"Good, you're awake." Sam attempted a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I warmed up some soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich for you. Do you want to come to the table?"
Dean grunted and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Well, I thought maybe your head might be hurting too bad for the walk. I'll be right back with a tray."
Dean stared at his brother's retreating back as regret laced his thoughts. One stupid, rookie move and his entire life had been reduced to his baby brother waiting on him hand and foot. When Sam returned with the tray, Dean finally found his voice. "Just leave, Sam."
The younger Winchester's brow furrowed. "No. Now, EAT THE FOOD." He slammed the tray on the bed over his brother's lap and left the room quickly before he could say something he didn't mean.
Dean bit back an angry retort and fought the urge to slap the bowl of soup across the room like an angry child. Instead, he leaned his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His head pounded too badly to even think of eating, and he was pretty sure his stomach would rebel if he tried.
He must have dozed off once again. When he woke up the tray was gone and another glass of water sat beside his bed. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was nearing midnight. He'd slept most of the day away. Voices in the other room made him frown. Sam was talking to someone; the voices weren't on the television. Bobby…it was Bobby's voice.
Before Dean could process that thought, Sam's head peeked in the doorway. "Hey, Dean, you've got company."
Bobby Singer stepped around the younger Winchester and into the room, a frown marring his face at the sight of how pale Dean looked as he rested against the pillows. "Balls, Dean! You look awful!"
Dean scowled. "Had to run and tattle, didn't you, Sammy? Just couldn't stand it. You needed to tell someone about my stupid, rookie, mistake! I told you not to call Bobby!"
"Look, Dean," Sam began as he brushed his hair back from his face.
"Sam, give me some time alone with your brother," Bobby tossed over his shoulder at the younger Winchester. "Go get some groceries or something."
"It's the middle of the night," Sam replied hesitantly as he glanced back and forth between his brother and Bobby.
"Tarnation, Sam, just get out of here, will ya?" Bobby snapped.
Sam clamped his lips shut and nodded. "I'll get some spaghetti sauce for tomorrow," he said absently as he scurried out of the door.
Bobby waited until he heard the front door shut behind Sam to round on the older brother. "Never thought I'd see the day John Winchester's oldest son would give up on a fight."
Dean blinked. "Bobby…," he trailed off with a sigh.
"Don't you dare 'Bobby' me, boy," the older hunter snarled as he marched to stand in front of Dean's bed with his hands planted firmly on his hips. "You need to cut the crap and start taking this physical therapy seriously."
"Look at me, Bobby!" Dean growled. "I'm useless! That therapist wanted me to wear diapers like a baby. I'm holding Sam back. He should just stick me in some facility like the doctors wanted in the first place and leave me. Either that or give me a gun so I can put myself out of my misery." Dean's face was twisted in anger and misery.
"Would you listen to yourself?" Bobby asked incredulously. "You're wallowing in self-pity, and never once have you considered how all of this is affecting your brother." He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously as he considered his next words. "Dean, he's lost his girlfriend and his father. That kid's life is ruined completely if he has to say goodbye to you, too."
"This is his chance at a normal life, Bobby. He can have everything he's ever wanted now, and I won't get in his way." Dean flopped his head back against the pillow and groaned as it throbbed mercilessly.
"You can stop using your brother as your excuse to whine like a school girl," Bobby snapped, suddenly at the end of his patience. "He needs you, Dean, and from what Sam has explained to me it sounds like you are starting to improve. Maybe you're just giving up on the physical therapy because it's hard."
The words were taunting and Dean nearly snapped. "I'm giving up because it's useless. Can't you see how useless I am?" He was shouting now.
"You're not useless. You're feeling sorry for yourself," Bobby shot back angrily. "Now, I'm going to get some sleep and stay a few days to help your brother. I'm glad I came. You need a good kick in the seat of your pants." Bobby whirled and left the room angrily.
When Sam returned a short time later, he had a bag from an all-night superstore. He took one look at the scowl on Bobby's face and frowned. "I take it things with Dean didn't go well."
"Your brother is as stubborn as an old mule," the older hunter growled.
A small grin quirked the corner of Sam's lips. "You don't need to tell me," he admitted.
"We'll get him through this, Sam," Bobby assured the younger man. "Don't you worry. We'll figure it out."
Sam heaved a sigh as he methodically placed the groceries in the cabinets. "I don't know, Bobby. It's Dean's nature to take care of others and put them before himself, but now he's the one that needs to be cared for. It's killing him."
"He's not the first person in the world to go through something like this, Sam," Bobby pointed out.
"No, no he's not," Sam stated, suddenly defensive, "but my brother has looked out for me since he was four years old. He doesn't know how to do anything else. Maybe we're being too hard on him."
"If you want him to regain full use of his legs, your brother is going to need some tough love," Bobby pointed out. "You can't let up."
"I hate to see him hurting, Bobby," Sam admitted as he leaned both palms against the counter and stared unseeing at the scarred wooden cabinets.
"I know you do, but we're going to figure this out, Sam. We won't let him down." Bobby clapped a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder and hoped he was speaking the truth.
To Be Continued…
Authors' Note: Thanks so much for taking the time to read! Please continue to keep Jared in your thoughts and prayers.
