Chapter 9
"All right, Sam," said Karen, Sam's physical therapist. "Dr. Ogden gave the okay for you to do the standing frame, if you want, as long as I help you."
Sam glanced at TJ, who was sitting against the wall in a chair, wearing her usual baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and ponytail, studying while he went through his physical therapy.
He exhaled. He hadn't stood in a standing frame since rehab in Iowa, and he felt a little self-conscious; but then he remembered standing next to Azazel and what that had felt like, and he was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to feel tall again, even if it wasn't on his own steam. "Yeah, I guess," he finally answered Karen.
"All right," she said in her clipped, professional manner. "Did you eat a good breakfast this morning?"
He nodded.
"Good. We don't want you passing out on us."
He was in the power chair, and he pushed the joystick and made his way over to the contraption that was basically a chair that, once he was secured in it, went from a sitting position into a stand and allowed people with paraplegia the chance to stretch out their muscles and reach their full height.
He had gotten the sling off earlier at his doctor's appointment and felt like a free man, although his right arm and shoulder were weak and stiff. He had a long way to go to reach where he'd been before, and he had a lot of restrictions on how much he could lift and how much he could rotate his shoulder. Still, it was progress and a relief.
He still wasn't allowed to transfer without a board, so Karen used the one she always had on hand and helped him transfer onto the seat of the frame. It always amazed him that she was so petite but never had any trouble maneuvering his large body. He hadn't liked her take-no-prisoners demeanor at first, but he'd spent a lot of time with her in the past month and a half, and he was warming up to her. He knew she had his best interests at heart, and she was a big part of the reason his shoulder recovery was ahead of schedule—along with Bobby, of course.
Karen made sure the soles of his feet were resting flat on the footrests and then flipped the knee pads over onto his knees, securing his legs. There was a hydraulic lever attached to the frame that looked kind of like the "ski poles" that came with an elliptical machine, which made the seat move into a stand. Since there was only one lever, and it was on the right side, Karen began pushing the lever back and forth because Sam's shoulder was still too weak for him to do it himself.
He could feel himself start to rise and felt lightheaded and short of breath. He'd had no problems when he'd stood and walked with the "dream" body in the nightmare with Azazel, but it had been a long time since he'd been vertical in this body, and it was basically giving him a massive head rush.
Karen paused her movement. "How're you doing, Sam?"
"Just give me a second."
"Sure."
After a few moments, when he could feel his blood pressure adjusting to the new elevation, he nodded his head, indicating she should resume.
"All right," said Karen, and she began the back-and-forth motion on the lever again.
He felt himself getting closer to his full height and experienced a slight thrill. It was weird how close the ceiling seemed to be getting and even weirder that he noticed such a thing. He turned his attention to TJ and watched her intently, waiting for her to look up from her textbook and notice what was happening.
She wrote something with a pencil in a notebook, and he noticed how prominent the knuckle bones were in her fingers and remembered how extremely large her eyes had looked yesterday when they'd been lying on his bed. She had warm, expressive eyes, but they seemed too big now, the sockets around them too defined. It was hard to tell because she always wore such baggy clothing, but he realized that she had lost weight in the weeks that he had gotten to know her.
When he was almost to a full stand, she finally looked up, and her eyes widened. Then a huge grin spread across her face, and that combined with her smattering of freckles made it seem like she'd been kissed by the sun.
Her delight was so genuine and infectious that Sam couldn't help but grin back, even though he still felt a little lightheaded from being at his full height.
When he was standing up fully straight, Karen adjusted the shadow tray—which was a small, flat surface attached to the front of the frame—so he'd have something to lean his arms on, and said, "I'm going to go print a handout that has your new exercises on it, Sam, and the new do's and don'ts. I'll be right back."
"Yeah. Okay."
TJ set her books in her chair and walked over to him, giving him the once-over. "Wow," she said, looking up at him and clearly impressed. "You're a freakin' tree."
He looked down at her and raised his brows in amusement. "You're short." She was one of the tallest girls he'd ever known, but he was at least four inches taller.
Her face lit up in another grin. "This is pretty cool. You should get one of these for your home."
"Yeah. All I need is about four thousand dollars."
"Ouch. Won't insurance pay for it?"
He snorted. "Uh, no. It's really complicated. They're pretty stingy, and I don't have Medicaid to supplement. There's a chance the state might come through at some point, but right now, it's not gonna happen."
"That doesn't seem right. It seems like this would be really good for you."
"Yeah. There's a lot of health benefits to it. It's all crazy, though. There's a chance my insurance may cover custom leg braces, but, ironically, they cost more than the standing chair. With the braces and crutches, I might be able to walk short distances, but that's a long time away."
She frowned. "Why?"
"My shoulder. It takes a lot of upper body and arm strength."
"Oh. Duh," she said, rolling her eyes at herself as if she should have figured that out.
The action combined with her freckles made her look like a ten-year-old, and Sam smiled.
Karen came back with the handouts containing Sam's new PT regimen and handed them to TJ. TJ towered over the tiny, dark-haired woman, and Sam totally dwarfed her, but she still had a no-nonsense air of authority, even as she craned her neck to look up at both of them. "Listen closely," she ordered TJ, "so you can tell Bobby all of this."
Sam felt a surge of annoyance. As if he couldn't do it himself.
Karen looked at him with narrowed eyes, reading his mind. "I know you, and I don't want you trying anything beyond your current strength level. I don't want you pulling the wool over Bobby's eyes and overdoing it."
He wanted to protest that he wouldn't do that, but he kept quiet, knowing it was pointless to argue with her.
"Okay. I'm going to give you some Therabands, starting with the least resistance, for internal and external rotation, flexion, abduction, and extension. We want to start really strengthening your deltoid and rotator cuff.
"You're going to begin flexibility and stretching exercises to progressively increase your range of motion in all directions. I've attached a card for a yoga studio here in case you're interested. It's a great way to strengthen and increase flexibility in a gentle, relaxing, energizing way. It's also a good way for you to get in touch with your body."
Sam just looked at her, thinking there was no way in hell.
Karen gave a wry smirk. "I know you want to roll your eyes, Sam, but the instructor there has paraplegia herself, and she's adapted a lot of yoga poses for those with disabilities. Her name is Amber, and she's fantastic. She teaches classes for able-bodied students, too. Yoga is for everyone, and it can be very healing. If you're interested, tell me, and I will give her the rundown on your shoulder so she won't give you any poses that could reinjure it."
Sam remained politely impassive, trying not to show his disdain for her suggestion.
TJ, however, was flipping through the papers Karen had handed her and perusing the card with the yoga guru's name on it. She seemed to be taking Karen's instructions very seriously, and Sam was kind of warmed by the fact that she cared.
Karen continued her lecture. "No weightlifting above shoulder height, and no lifting anything at all over ten pounds. Still no transfers without a transfer board. You can, however, start sleeping on your stomach again, if you want."
Sam was relieved to hear that. If he slept on his stomach, he didn't really have to worry about pressure sores, and Dean and Bobby wouldn't have to turn him over during the night. Of course, now he had demons chasing him in his dreams, so it was unlikely that he would get a good night's sleep, even without having to be turned.
"Probably the best news of all," said Karen, "you can start using your manual chair again if you stick to a few limitations."
He wouldn't have thought such a thing would be good news, but he couldn't wait. He had missed his manual chair. It was customized to his needs, and it would feel good to be back in it again after having to use the power chair for so many weeks.
Karen gave him a stern look. "You can use it in your apartment and only on level surfaces. Absolutely no pushing up or down inclines or through rough terrain like grass or gravel. Have someone else push you." She paused, making sure Sam was listening. "Am I clear?"
"Yes, Karen, you're clear."
TJ had her thinking face on, brows slightly furrowed and focusing on every word Karen was saying.
"Good," said Karen. "I'm going to put you in a manual we have here in a minute so I can show you how you're going to propel yourself. It's not going to be what you're used to. It's going to be a very controlled movement. None of that jerky pushing and feeding off inertia. It might be a little too slow for your liking at first, but if you want your shoulder to continue to heal, you'll do it. Remember, you'll be pretty weak in the beginning. If your shoulder starts to hurt or gets fatigued, have someone push you or switch back to the power chair. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Karen, you're clear," he said, almost as if by rote.
"Once you get used to propelling yourself that way, you might even want to stick with it. In my opinion, it's what they should teach in all rehabs, but they don't ask me. You could save yourself a lot of wear and tear down the road on both your shoulders." She pointed a finger at him for emphasis. "Now, Sam, Dr. Ogden is only giving you the okay to use your manual because you've been such a good patient so far, so I really want you to pay attention to what you're doing," she warned.
"I get it," Sam replied, peeved that she was talking to him like he was a recalcitrant teenager.
TJ piped up, ever the model student. "I'll make sure he does what he's supposed to and that Bobby knows everything, too."
Karen smiled. "I like this girl."
Me too, thought Sam, and then he teased TJ. "Brownnoser."
TJ scowled up at him. "Tree."
He grinned, but it faded a little when he noticed again how her eyes looked a little sunken in and how gaunt she was getting. It worried him.
When the PT session was over, TJ and Sam were making their way down the hall to the front entrance of the rehab facility when a female voice behind them yelled, "Nelly?"
There was a slight hesitation in TJ's steps, but she kept going as if she hadn't heard.
"TJ, is that you?" said the voice.
There was no escaping this time, and TJ froze in her tracks and then unenthusiastically turned around, pasting a rigid smile on her face.
Sam stopped next to her and spun the power chair around. A pretty, blue-eyed girl with mid-length blond hair cut in the shape of a bob was grinning at them, obviously pleased to see TJ. She moved forward and embraced TJ in a big hug. She wasn't as tall as TJ, but she was taller than average. After a second, she pulled back and took in TJ's appearance, her grin faltering a little. She looked TJ up and down, her voice tinged with concern. "Nelly? How've you been?"
TJ seemed happy to see her friend but wary at the same time. "Hey, Gretchen. I'm fine. How 'bout you?"
Gretchen was still scrutinizing TJ. "I'm great. Things are going well with the new job."
"That's...great," said TJ lamely with false cheer. She nodded toward Sam. "Gretchen, this is my friend Sam Winchester. Sam, this is my old roommate, Gretchen Koenig.
Gretchen gave Sam a warm smile and looked him directly in the eye. "Hey, Sam. It's nice to meet you."
He smiled politely. "Yeah. You, too." He waited for some sign of awkwardness or unease, which he had gotten used to on the rare occasions when he met someone new, but Gretchen had no reaction whatsoever to Sam's wheelchair. He noticed she was wearing a polo and khakis similar to what Karen wore and figured she must be a PT, too.
Her attention quickly refocused on TJ.
TJ said, "So, um, what are you doing here, Gretch?"
"Oh, we sometimes trade between departments. They were shorthanded over here, so I volunteered to help out."
There was a moment of awkward silence, and then TJ said to Sam, "Gretchen is a PT, but she specializes in sports injuries like knees and stuff. Right, Gretch?"
"Yeah."
"More probability of running into hot guys," TJ teased.
Gretchen eyed TJ, and her manner was distracted, but she soon smiled and said, "You know it, girl. We just got the contract to be the trainers for the Gulls, San Diego's minor league hockey team. Lots of cute Russians and French Canadians. It's weird, though. They're really young, but most of them are already married."
"I'm sure that puts a damper on things."
Gretchen frowned and a beat went by before she said, "Yeah...So, what are you guys doing here?"
"I brought Sam to his PT appointment. He's recovering from a shoulder injury."
"Oh," said Gretchen with polite disinterest, still oddly preoccupied with TJ.
TJ looked uncomfortable and cleared her throat. "Okay. Well, it was great seeing you again, but we really have to go. You ready, Sam?"
Sam studied the two girls and knew there was a weird dynamic going on. TJ seemed nervous, and Gretchen's manner was assessing. He was curious but answered TJ's question. "Yeah. I'm ready if you are."
Gretchen drew TJ into another affectionate hug, ignoring TJ's stiff, robotic response. When she let go of TJ, she said with a penetrating look, "You're too thin, girl. Are you sure you're okay?"
TJ blushed and then seemed annoyed. "I'm fine," she declared with a firm jaw, and then nervously pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of its ponytail.
Gretchen didn't look convinced, but seemed to know she should let it go. Switching her mood, she said, "Hey, we should all go out sometime. Let's do a day trip to the beach like we used to. Do you like the beach, Sam?"
"Uh..." Sam felt a little awkward and didn't know how to respond. He hadn't been to the beach since his days at Stanford, and certainly not since his injury.
TJ, as usual, seemed attuned to his feelings and came to the rescue. "I don't know about Sam, but I don't have time, Gretch. I'm swamped with work and school. Call me after graduation in a couple of months."
"Yeah, yeah," said Gretchen. "Same answer I always get. I'm gonna drag you out eventually. I miss my best friend. The other girls are always asking about you, too. We need to do a girls' night out." To Sam, she said, "How do you guys know each other?"
"She works at Shorty's with my brother Dean. I've been helping her out with Latin."
"Uh-huh," said Gretchen with a knowing smile. "Looks like I'm not the only one running into hot guys."
Sam was taken aback by the indirect compliment. It was nice to hear it, actually.
TJ blushed furiously. "God, Gretchen, just shut up. What is this, Embarrass TJ Day? Sam and I are just friends."
Gretchen laughed, unrepentant. "Hey, you guys have time for lunch? I'm on my break."
"No," said TJ emphatically.
"Well—" said Sam at the same time. He wouldn't have normally considered it, but he liked Gretchen. She didn't make him feel self-conscious, and they could surely find a place near the hospital that would be accessible.
Besides, he damn sure wasn't in a hurry to get home. He was tormented by the nightmare with Azazel, constantly agonizing over the fact that he was tainted with demon blood. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Azazel had been right. Was it futile to try to fight his destiny? Was he needlessly living with paraplegia when he was just delaying the inevitable? The only time he could get his mind off of it all was when he was with TJ.
TJ grabbed Sam's left wrist and looked pointedly at his watch. "We've got to go. I need to take Sam home and get ready for my two o'clock class."
Sam frowned. "It's just past noon, TJ. You've got plenty of time. We could grab something quick."
Her expression was a mixture of surprise and then something that looked a lot like anger. "Okay. Great. You guys have an awesome time. I'm sure there'll be a bus stop near wherever you decide to go so you can get home, Sam."
It was a low blow, the threat of the bus, because she knew how he hated it, and he wondered why she was so adamant about not wanting to have lunch with her old friend. Besides, he wanted to see TJ eat a decent meal. Gretchen was right. TJ looked too thin, and he was getting more worried about her, even though he was hacked off at her for the bus comment. However, he could see that TJ had switched into her you're not gonna tell me what to do mode. "Fine," he said tersely. "Take me home, then."
"It's okay," said Gretchen, obviously trying to diffuse the tension between Sam and TJ. "Maybe some other time. I'd like to get to know you, Sam. Maybe you can fill me in on what TJ's been up to, since she won't."
"You know what I've been up to," said TJ. "School and work."
Gretchen winked at Sam. "And Latin."
He smiled back.
TJ paled, and there was not a trace of humor in her eyes.
Sam cleared his throat, disconcerted by her odd reaction. "Well, uh, it was nice meeting you, Gretchen."
"You, too, Sam." Then, she moved as if to give TJ yet another hug.
TJ crossed her arms as if to ward her off.
Gretchen's eyes were imploring. "Call me, TJ. We need to talk."
TJ gave her a quick smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Okay. I will."
Gretchen gave a skeptical smile back as she turned and retreated down the hallway.
XXXXXXXX
"Okay. Ready?" TJ asked Sam.
He nodded.
Sam was in his power chair, and she was leaning over him, about to help him transfer into her car. He had already placed his feet on the floorboard, and he had his good arm wrapped around her neck in order to prepare to transfer the rest of his body to the front seat. He smelled of one part mystery spice and one part Irish Spring and all hot guy, and TJ felt like he was a giant magnet and she was a giant piece of metal, irrevocably attracted to him. It was hard to believe that she could feel so strongly about him, and he could feel nothing in return. It seemed like some of her feelings should rub off on him by sheer force of will.
He counted to three, and she helped him lift onto and then slide along the transfer board and into her car. Once he was in the car, he hugged her neck for a second longer, getting himself adjusted, and then let go. He was favoring his right arm, not exerting it too much, and TJ was glad he was being careful, even though she was pissed at him.
His seat was pushed as far back as it would go because of his long legs. He lifted them a little with his left hand and adjusted them with movements that were so quick and sure it almost looked like his legs were moving on their own. He reached across his body with his left arm, grabbing the door. "I got it," he said, indicating that he could close the door.
TJ fought the urge to roll her eyes. God forbid he let a girl shut the damn door for him. "Fine," she said abruptly and pulled his chair back out of the way to disassemble it. It was easy, really. All she had to do was take out the main battery pack and then the backup battery, pull out the seat cushion, and everything else pretty much folded up and fit in the trunk.
Once they were on their way to Sam's apartment, TJ fumed over the fact that it had taken her weeks to convince him to go out anywhere with her, yet Gretchen had asked one time, after knowing him all of five minutes, and he was rarin' to go. Of course, she should have expected as much. Gretchen was beautiful. Why wouldn't Sam want to go to lunch with her? The charming smile he had given Gretchen at the end of their encounter had made TJ's heart sink like the Titanic.
After several minutes of tense silence, Sam finally said, "TJ, are you okay?"
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" she snapped.
He frowned. "Do you feel okay?"
"I feel fine."
He hesitated and then said, "It's just that Gretchen is right, TJ. You look thin, and I've noticed you seem tired a lot."
"Well, if I don't feel like crap now, I will soon if everyone keeps telling me I look like it," she said with irritation. "It doesn't do much for a girl's ego."
"I just don't want you to get sick," he said quietly.
Great. Just what she needed. People were starting to talk, starting to notice her weight loss, just like the last time. Why couldn't they all just leave her alone? She knew what she was doing. She stared at the road ahead of her, but she could feel Sam's eyes on her.
He sighed. "Your friend Gretchen seems nice. Why don't you hang out with her anymore?"
She could feel her ire start to escalate. "I don't have time."
"What are you talking about? You're constantly trying to get me to go out, yet you don't have time for her? We could all do something together, if you want."
Lord have mercy; Dean was right. For a smart guy, Sam could be incredibly dense. She steered with one hand and rummaged through her purse with the other until she found her cell phone. "Here," she said, carelessly tossing it at him and secretly impressed by his quick reflexes when he caught it. "Why don't you give her a call? Her number's in my contacts. I'm sure you guys would have a great time together since you hit it off so well." She couldn't keep the acid from her tone.
"Are you jealous?" he asked, sounding incredulous.
"Of course not," she lied. "If you want to ask her out, go ahead. She's a great girl."
"You know I would never do that."
"Why? She openly admitted she thinks you're hot."
He was silent.
"What? So you're never going to ask a girl out again? Ever?" She glanced at him.
He was staring out the windshield in front of him, jaw tense.
"That's fucking ridiculous, Sam."
His only reaction was his jaw getting tighter.
It made her furious, the thought that he really believed that no girl would want him, but, at the same time, she was furious and hurt that he had liked Gretchen and wanted to go to lunch with her. It was a stupid contradiction, and it was making TJ crazy. She was entering dangerous territory where she'd been known to say things that got her into trouble, but she couldn't keep quiet. "She's a physical therapist, Sam. She knows what to expect, and I know from hearing her talk about the last guy she dated that she likes to rodeo."
He still didn't respond.
She hazarded another glance at him, getting angrier that he wouldn't say anything. "Ask her out, Sam," she goaded. "You guys would make the perfect couple." With biting sarcasm, she added, "Maybe it's your lucky day. Maybe she has a thing for gimps."
Sam's jaw hardened to granite, the muscles in his neck and shoulders cording.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them and was horrified, knowing she had gone too far. She saw a strip center and pulled in and parked, unable to pay attention to the road, feeling a numb sort of shock before panic set in, hoping she hadn't hurt him as much as she knew she had. She looked at him, praying that he would believe her and forgive her. When she spoke, her voice didn't sound like her own. "I'm really sorry, Sam. That was uncalled for. I didn't mean it."
He looked away from her and stared out the passenger window. His left hand was clenched into a fist, and her phone was gripped in a vise in his right hand.
"Sam, please," she begged, feeling hysteria bubbling up within her and frantically trying to find the right words that would make everything okay between them. "You're—" Her throat suddenly tightened, and she couldn't speak, overwhelmed by fear that her big mouth might have just ruined her friendship with the one person she loved most in the world. Hot tears spilled from her eyes, and there was no way she could stop them. She swallowed convulsively, trying to find her voice. "You're the last person I would ever want to hurt, Sam. I'm so sorry. Please..."
He turned to her then, brows furrowed, eyes filled with disappointment and betrayal.
It was her undoing, and a fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks. "I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry," she said again in a ragged whisper, wishing there were stronger words to convey how she felt.
He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, but then he reached over and wiped some of the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. "That was a little insensitive," he said in his quiet way.
She let out a choked sound that was half laugh and half sob. "You think so?"
"Yeah."
She nodded, looking out the windshield but seeing nothing, every fiber of her being aware of him. She felt physically ill for hurting him, and she wiped more moisture from her soaked cheeks.
"Hey," he said, and he drew her into a hug across the console of the front seat.
She sagged with relief, leaning into him, relishing the feel of his arms around her, and mentally added to her list of Things That Make Sam Awesome the fact that he was incredibly forgiving—and an incredible hugger.
After he let go of her, he dropped her phone that he still held back into her purse. "So, you really think Gretchen likes to rodeo?"
TJ gave a short laugh and rolled her eyes, tremendously grateful that he was teasing her. "You wish."
He grinned, dimples showing. "Let's get some lunch."
She started the car and looked back to pull out of the parking space. "I'm not hungry."
He grew serious again. "TJ, you need to eat before your class."
"I'll grab something on the way."
"You promise?"
She pulled back onto the street, looking both directions and pretending to be cautious but really trying to figure out how to answer him without lying.
He frowned. "TJ, you didn't answer me. Do you promise me you'll get something to eat?"
She looked into his eyes and said, "I promise." It wasn't a lie. She would get something to eat. She just didn't say what or how much.
XXXXXXXX
Sam headed toward his bedroom to get a book to read. He pushed himself in his manual wheelchair the way Karen had shown him, with fluid and controlled movements instead of hard, jerky pushes on the wheels that would get them rolling by inertia and jar his shoulders in the process. The new way was slowgoing, but he knew he would get faster when his shoulder was stronger. He was glad to be back in the manual and was surprised to discover that he felt more like himself when he was in it, felt more free.
Both of his arms were weak, too, from several weeks of not really using them, especially his right, and he had been careful not to overdo it. He'd been back in his regular chair for two days now and had stayed on the even, smooth floors of the apartment, not going on any terrain that would be too taxing. The chair was engineered well, smooth, and easy to push, and he liked that his legs and feet were tucked back in more on the footplate so that he didn't have to worry as much about banging them on walls and furniture.
He didn't even mind the slightly rough, rubbery feel of the tires and the metal of the handrims under his palms and fingers, although his hands were a bit tender from disuse and he would have to develop more calluses again. He had fingerless leather gloves that he kept in his backpack for when he had to push himself long distances or in bad weather, but most of the time he didn't like to wear them. There was no doubt it would be harder to keep his hands clean now that he was back in the manual, but he didn't care. It felt good to be moving his body again, to get his blood pumping, even if it was just his upper body.
As usual, there was nothing decent on TV, and he was tired of surfing the net. He was beginning to think more and more that it was a waste of time, that there was nothing in the supernatural realm—other than Azazel—that could help him. It only served to discourage him and get him to thinking about the nightmare, which left him reeling with cold, stark fear and revulsion.
He was trying to keep thoughts of the demon blood and Azazel's offer at bay as he made his way silently down the hallway, trying to pretend that it wasn't all hanging over his head like the Sword of Damocles. As he passed by Dean's door, he noticed it was slightly ajar, and, although he couldn't see Bobby and Dean, he could hear their voices.
Bobby was in the middle of saying, "...cattle deaths, electrical storms, and I'm sure you've noticed the temperature fluctuations in San Diego, which is weird—hotter during the day than normal and cooler at night than normal."
"Yeah," answered Dean. "Anything else?"
"Yep. There's been reports of all kinds of electrical devices going haywire all around the city and surrounding areas—clocks stopping, radio signals malfunctioning, even the air traffic control radars going wee-wah. They've had some near-misses at the airport that scared the shit out of everybody."
Dean was silent.
"Here's the kicker," said Bobby. "I checked the dates. The height of the disturbances have been a day or two prior to each of Sam's episodes—his fall when he hurt his shoulder, the time you came home and found him so upset, and the nightmare he had a few nights ago."
"Dammit! I knew it. Ah, Sammy." There was silence, and then Dean said, "I wish he'd fuckin' talk to me, Bobby."
Sam felt his gut clench. He should have known Dean wouldn't leave it alone. Sam didn't know whether to be pissed that Dean and Bobby were going behind his back or relieved that Dean still cared, that he was still looking out for him, despite all the tension that had been between them. It was clear now that Bobby had been doing research on Monday. That's why he hadn't been able to take Sam to his doctor and PT appointments.
"All right, Bobby," said Dean. "Here it is, loaded and ready to go. It's been oiled and cleaned."
Sam's pulse quickened. Dean had to be talking about the Colt.
"Where you been keepin' it?"
"Until a few weeks ago, a safety deposit box."
"A safety deposit box? Ain't that risky, leaving it in someone else's hands?"
"I figured it was better to have it protected by an air-tight, fifty-ton bank vault that can't catch on fire, get flooded, and was impermeable to break-ins. I didn't want to leave it hidden in the Impala because the car could get stolen or, God forbid, wrecked."
Sam could hear the shudder in Dean's voice.
"Of course, any moron who was dumb enough to steal my baby could kiss their ass goodbye," added Dean.
Bobby snorted.
"I was afraid the apartment could get broken into and didn't want to keep it here at the time."
"So, what do we do with the gun now?" asked Bobby.
"I think we should keep it here in the apartment, since this is where Sam is most of the time. You need to have it close by in case anything happens."
"All right. Are we gonna let Sam in on where it is?"
Dean was silent for a moment. "I don't know, Bobby. If Yellow Eyes is messing with his head, I don't know that he should have access to it. Who knows what that bastard might be able to talk him into doing, and if the demon gets a hold of that gun, we're all screwed."
Bobby sighed. "I guess, but it'll piss Sam off to no end if he finds out we've gone behind his back."
Damn right, Bobby, thought Sam bitterly. It made him furious that they thought his psyche was too fragile, that he couldn't take care of himself.
"So what else is new?" said Dean. "He's pissed off at me all the time, anyway." There was a hint of regret hidden under the cynical tone of Dean's voice.
Bobby cleared his throat. "All right. Where do we put it here in the apartment?"
"For now, up here."
Sam could hear Dean moving around. Up where? he thought with frustration. He knew if he tried to open the door any more to see that Dean and Bobby both would sense it. He would have to try to get in there and look when he could be unobserved. If it was somewhere too high and out of his reach, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
"If you feel the need, you can keep it on you," said Dean.
Bobby was quiet for a second and then said, "Let's see how things go. We'll leave it there, like you said, for now."
Sam could hear more movement and guessed Bobby might be heading for the door. Sam quietly pushed himself the rest of the way down the hall, hoping his wheels wouldn't squeak on the floor like they sometimes did. He could pretend he was just now passing by if he got caught, but he didn't want to lie if he didn't have to.
When he got to his room without incident, he sat just inside the doorway, thinking. A plan started to form in his head, a plan that would get him up and walking again; a plan that would avenge the deaths of his mom, dad, and Jessica; a plan that would destroy the Yellow-Eyed Demon. All he needed was the Colt.
TBC
A/N: Thanks for the reviews and, please, keep 'em comin'! You guys are awesome.
