It's a little short, but I had some time to write and I didn't want to leave you guys for too long with an evil cliff hanger. I can't promise the next update will come nearly as quickly, but at least this chapter doesn't end with a major cliffie. As always, thanks so much for the reviews. Keep feeding them to me. Enjoy!
"Dean! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Sam didn't know how he'd managed to miss Dean climbing from the car, and he had no idea how Dean had managed to make it as far as he actually had, but now the older hunter was in a precarious position clinging to the outside of the passenger side door as though his life depended on it. And maybe it did; or at the very least the life he once knew. Fearless, capable Dean was about to be washed away, and along with it the little bit of confidence he still carried within himself, the minute he lost his stronghold on the black metal doorframe.
He struggled, fighting a losing battle against gravity and his uncooperative leg. At some point, Dean's right knee had buckled, sending him sailing toward the blacktop. He'd only managed to save himself from the embarrassment of playing kissy-face with the parking lot by the quick motions of his skilled left hand as it hooked over the doorframe. But despite his knowledge of the useless right leg, its collapse had caught Dean off guard and the left knee had followed suit. His awkward hold on the door meant he was unable to gain purchase of solid footing and the perilous position in which he hung promised an embarrassing tumble if he didn't correct the situation just so.
Sweat poured off of Dean's determined face as he struggled to right himself to no avail, and that determination switched to pure hatred as he suddenly felt himself being lifted from the door by none other that his baby brother. This isn't the way it should be, Sammy. You're not supposed to be helping me. Ever. Dean growled inside his mind, keeping the thought to himself only because he couldn't bear to struggle through his stilted words at the present moment. One failure was enough for the time being.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Sam demanded again as he lowered Dean back to the passenger seat. He didn't miss Dean's annoyed, not to mention strategically timed, jerk free of his grasp the minute his older brother was no longer in danger of falling, but Sam was wise enough to ignore it and simply release his hold without a fight.
Dean ignored the question, instead looking down at his feet and pretending that the small, barely noticeable, scuff mark on the toe of his left boot was important by Great Pyramid proportions. He studied it intently, moving his foot around to get a better look at it, angling the toe so it was in the fading sunlight. Need to polish that. The sentiment ran through his mind, but it never really claimed a place in his memory. Just a fleeting thought. Just something to take his mind off the more daunting thoughts of the day.
"Dean!" Sam's stern voice resonated against the sidewalls of his brain, but the only consideration he gave it was that he wished his brother would just shut the hell up for once. Can't you see I'm hurting. Dammit, leave me alone. But Sam wasn't easily shaken, and instead of backing off, he came on stronger, grabbing Dean's crestfallen face between his two strong hands and making his brother look directly at him.
"I asked you what the hell you thought you were doing, trying to get out of the car like that. Don't you realize you could have hurt yourself?" Sam tried desperately to convey anger in his tone. Because he was, angry that is, but more than anything else he was scared, and maybe a little annoyed at Dean's brash, take-no-prisoners attempt at escape - if that was, indeed, what he'd intended to do. But the anger and sternness in his voice soon faded to gentle understanding as Dean's hazel eyes finally fell down to meet his.
They'd lost their sparkle; that life that Dean always had in himself, in his soul, was gone. In place of the hope was fear. Desperation. "I d– don– t have t– t– ime t– to be sssssick," Dean finally answered, his eyes immediately leaving Sam's gaze once again and falling back to the ground. Dammit, Sam, don't you get it? There are people after us. COPS. After us. And I'm just holding you back. I'm a liability. They never would have found us if it wasn't for me and my stupid brain going all wacky. "I– I thhhh– ought I c– could do it,"
Sam's face softened, the features going all melted butter at the sight of Dean's own deflated face, and in an instant he knew what his brother was thinking. "Dean, you don't have to be the big brother all of the time," Sam insisted, once again turning Dean's face toward his own. "This mess isn't your fault. You didn't cause it. You didn't ask for the cops to chase after us. You didn't ask to have a stroke. And you sure as hell didn't ask for this life in the first place. Shit happens, big bro. You know it and I know it. But we just have to deal and move on. That's what we do."
"I c– can– t movvvve on f– from this," Dean answered matter-of factly. I can't just shove this whole mess out of my mind and expect it to be gone. I can't shove through the pain like I usually do, Sammy, because there is no pain. I can't feel anything and I can't move.
"But you can," Sam insisted. "You're Dean Winchester. The baddest son of a bitch this side of the equator, and you will come back from this. You just have to want it bad enough."
Dean shook his head, unfazed by Sam's utter certainty of his abilities. He barely noticed the pride in Sam's words, the absolute hero complex that Sam had for him, as he drowned in self-pity. It was clear that he wasn't convinced, but Sam had not even the slightest clue as to why. It wasn't that Dean didn't want this whole fucking scenario to disappear into the void of bad dreams and nightmarish experiences that plagued the world at large. But he couldn't just fix everything by wanting it to go away. Because wanting something bad enough, wishing for it to happen didn't ever mean it was actually going to happen. If that was the case, then the demon would be dead, Jess and their mother would still be alive, Sam would be studying for the bar exam right now and the whole family would be sitting around in their nice, happy, apple pie life with absolutely no knowledge that evil existed. But that wasn't the case, and it never would be the case. Dean had learned that lesson from the ripe age of four when he'd spent weeks, every waking minute for over three weeks, wanting and wishing that his mother would return. And he'd learned it again the first time their father dragged him along on one of his hunts and Dean had spent the entire night cowering in the shadow of a bush, wishing that he would never have to go on another hunt again. He'd been six. And if that wasn't enough, the lesson had been hammered home the night Sam left for Stanford to their father's frightening tirade of 'Don't ever come back!', and Dean had spent the next two years wishing the argument had never taken place in the first place, and wanting Sam to return. Sure, Sam had come back eventually, but it wasn't because Dean had asked him to, and he seriously doubted that Sam would be sitting in front of him right now if Jess hadn't been killed that night.
So no, he wasn't going to put all his effort into wanting to get on his feet bad enough because that wasn't the way things worked for Dean Winchester. He could almost picture the day the big guy upstairs was handing out lucky breaks as though it was some big cosmic joke. Anyone who wants a free ride through life step forward now - not so fast, Dean. Nope; there were no free rides for Dean Winchester. Everything Dean had ever gotten in his life he'd gotten because he'd worked for it. Worked hard. And this one was no different. If he wanted to get back on his feet he had to take charge, and that was exactly what he intended to do.
He was going to work damn hard to get back on his feet, pacing back and forth in a cramped hotel room if that was all the space he had to work with. He would spend days, months if he had to, focusing on his hand and making it work. He would stand in front of the mirror reciting stupid tongue twisters and enunciating his letter sounds for as long as it would take to get his speech back up to par. Whatever it took, Dean would make it happen, and no matter how many falls he took or words he tripped over, Dean was going to be one hundred percent again. But he would get it through hard work and determination; never desire.
He nodded his agreement to his kid brother, running a hand through his hair as he did so. "I c– can mmmmake this w– work," Dean announced, and then immediately reconsidered. "W– we c– an mmmmake this w–work."
A long sigh, an exhale of air from tensed lungs, was released through Sam's mouth as he stood and prepared himself to return to the driver's seat. And then he stopped short when he saw what Dean was doing, a quick question of what the man's intentions were crossing his mind as confusion marred features that had contained relief just seconds earlier.
"Dean–" Sam spoke in a warning tone, about ready to scold his brother as though he were a child.
But Dean ignored Sam, jaw set in determination as he inched himself back out of the car that Sam had so carefully made sure he was settled into. His hand gripped the doorframe, readying to pull himself up when Sam spoke again.
"Dean, we just went through this. You're not going to be able to just get up out of the car and walk. It's going to take time."
"And you said you would help me," Dean replied pitifully, still working himself out of the car. "You promised to help me get back on my feet."
Sam nodded hesitantly. "Right, I did. And I will; just as soon as we get our stuff into the room. We should be safe here for the next few days before we need to disappear again, and I will happily help you as much as you want in that time. But we haven't even found our room yet, Dean."
"I c– can wwwwalk t–to the rrrroom," Dean persisted. I'm not riding anywhere if I can walk instead. Being lazy won't get me anywhere. "Llllet's w– walk and then y–you can g–get the c– car lllat-later."
"Dean..." Sam's voice changed, now apprehensive, and he scuffed the soles of his shoes against the blacktop, refusing to make eye contact. This isn't a good idea.
And then Dean was pissed. His arm, fist clenched, slammed hard against the window to get Sam's attention. "Help mmm– me or g– get the f– fuck out of mmmy w– way," Dean spat with enough venom that Sam balked.
It surprised Sam when he realized that for the first time since the stroke Sam didn't hear the stuttering that constantly plagued Dean's speech. It was still there, but now it was just a sound. He finally heard Dean, and whether he'd realized he'd been thinking it before, Sam no longer thought of Dean as crippled. Dean was determined, yes; stubborn, hell yeah, but he was far from crippled. His brother was simply fighting yet another demon in his life, and like always, Dean was going to win.
Sam sighed, coming to the realization that the only way this would work was if he followed Dean's leaf. He wouldn't resist any longer, and to prove that, Sam went to the back door and yanked it open. "OK," he agreed. "But if we're doing this, we're doing it the safe way."
"Fffffine." Dean nodded, and waited patiently while Sam pulled the immobilizer and the walker from the back seat, leaning the walker carefully against the side of the car before focusing on Dean's leg.
Dean didn't like the immobilizer, and he hated the walker with a passion, but he soon accepted them both when he realized he could use them to his advantage. Hating them took energy, but wanting them gone gave him power. If he focused his attention on how to get rid of the unwanted supplies instead of focusing on how much he hated them in the first place, he would be walking in no time.
And Sam was right, although he'd never admit that. Right now his leg, his knee, just wasn't strong enough to support his weight. But wearing the immobilizer that Sam now had strapped tightly to his leg, Dean would be able to get from the car to the room almost thirty feet away. And the walking was how he would get stronger.
"You ready?" Sam asked, positioning the walker in front of Dean and opening the door wider.
Dean nodded, too intent on the task at hand to deal with his words. He gripped the handle of the walker tightly in his left hand and waited for Sam to slide his arm under his right arm. With only a little waver, Dean was on his feet, wobbling slightly as he tried to gain his balance. The walker wasn't rigged the way the one at the hospital was, so Dean only had control of one side of the equipment while Sam had to remain at his right side, holding him up under the armpit and guiding the other side of the walker.
Somehow, in a blur of hesitant steps and dragging feet, a stumble here and there, and even one almost nosedive, the brothers made it to room 8 exhausted but otherwise no worse for wear.
Dean was ecstatic, having made it a distance three times farther than he'd ever gone in therapy, knowing this was just the beginning. But as high as he was floating, he was fading fast and upon entering the small room he willingly allowed Sam to lead him to the nearest bed and collapsed heavily upon it. The age and visible wear of the room barely registered as Dean scooted himself up to the head of the creaky bed and leaned back against the stack of pillows Sam had fluffed for him. His eyes were closed before Sam had left the room, and by the time Sam returned from moving the car Dean was dead to the world.
Sleep came just as hard and fast for Sam when he flopped down on the remaining bed just minutes after returning to the room, but it didn't last nearly as long and less than an hour later his nap was over while Dean continued to allow his battered body to heal, unaware of the rest of the world. With nothing better to do, Sam popped open the laptop with the intention researching their predicament. He was no stranger to hacking into police files and sealed documents, so this shouldn't be too difficult. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to concentrate, and he found himself worrying more about what they were going to do rather than what had already happened. They needed to get away; put a giant distance between themselves and the cops; somehow figure out a way to disappear entirely. Because he could only assume that if they'd been found once, they could be found again.
Several hours later, when Dean finally awoke, Sam had a plan formulated. There was just one slight problem, which Dean voiced with too much of a gleam in his eye for Sam's comfort. And the solution Dean provided did little to ease Sam's tension.
"Ssssammy, w– we need c– cash," Dean said as he stuffed another spoonful of Cheesy Baked Potato Soup into his mouth. "And I nnnneed a b– b– beer. L– let's f– f– ind a b– ar."
