Of course, I don't own Dean or Sam. Wish I did...but that's for another site. ho hum.
A/N: There's a part of me that feels it necessary to do justice to every little part of Sam's injury and the resulting emotions, but if I started doing that this story could go on for years and I fear I might just bore all of you, my faithful readers, to death. Therefore, in the interest of time and entertainment, I'm taking some poetic license and ignoring the slightly less "drama worthy" subjects. I'd ask you to forgive me, but something tells me you should be thanking me instead. Hehe. As always, thanks for all the encouragement. You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking time out of your own busy reading and writing schedules to read and review my story. And so it continues...
"They're releasing me? Today?" Panic rose in Sam's voice until it was nothing but a mere squeak. "But I'm not ready. I can't just leave the hospital." He sat stiffly in the new wheelchair Dean had purchased with Harry's input, rolling it backwards and forwards in the paraplegic's version of pacing. Doctor Reynolds had said he could go home, but they didn't have a home to go to. Dean had been sleeping at the hospital every night, so they didn't even have a motel. "Where are we going to go, Dean?"
"Dude, Sam, just chill out a bit will ya?" Dean sighed, feigning annoyance at Sam's irrational terror. He wouldn't admit it, but the idea scared him some, too. "I've got this all worked out. Laura insisted we stay in town. She want's to help. And for some ungodly reason Harry seems to look upon you as the son he never had, so he's gonna be helping you with your PT pro bono. So that just leaves renting ourselves a room and putting some food in our stomachs. Nothing to it."
Somehow, Dean's apathetic response did nothing to quell Sam's discomfort. Dammit Dean, you're so transparent I can see right through you. You may have Laura and the doctor's fooled, but you're just as anxious about this as I am. "I just don't think I'm ready for this."
"We don't exactly have a choice in the matter, Sammy. As soon as your paperwork comes through, they're kicking you out." Why do you have to be so stubborn about this Sammy? I'm doing the best I can; but you're not helping matters. "We need to make sure you have all your stuff together."
"Of course." Sam looked around the room at the piles of medical equipment he'd acquired over the past week and a half. Stacks of bandages, catheters, and pills; props for his therapy efforts, a transfer board, and half fingered gloves to keep his hands from callousing as he propelled the wheels of his new transportation. And then, of course, there was the wheelchair itself. This isn't my stuff. My stuff is hunting knives and guns loaded with rock salt. My stuff is incantations. My stuff is books on demons and monsters and other creatures that go bump in the night. The hell this is my stuff.
"Sam. Sammy!" Dean's voice brought him out of his daze.
"It's Sam. What do you want?"
"I want you to take this." Dean thrust a duffle bag at Sam. He balanced it on his lap. "Start filling it up."
As if in a trance Sam wheeled forward to the dresser. If he was going to pack he was packing familiar stuff, like his clothes. Let Dean deal with the medical crap. He didn't bother to keep the clothes folded, just stuffed them into the bag however they would fit, and finishing in a matter of minutes. Sam threw the packed bag back onto the bed and continued to watch Dean meticulously pack the supplies into another duffle.
"You want to give me a hand with the rest of the stuff, bro?" Dean asked.
"Hadn't really planned on it. Looks like you're doing just fine on your own." The smallest of smirks crossed Sam's face, giving Dean enough reason not to press. If his little brother could find any reason to smile he would take it. He would also take the release papers that the doctor chose to deliver at that minute.
A final once over had Dr. Reynolds issuing his OK. Sam could leave the hospital. Panic returned to Sam, consuming his body and soul. Until now he'd only had to confront hospital staff. But there was a whole world beyond those doors filled with people to stare at him and pity him. In the hospital there were people to help him into and out of bed and help him get dressed. Now it would only be Dean. Could he really give in and let Dean help him with everything he needed? Would he be able to let his guard down enough to admit to Dean he was vulnerable?
"Ready dork?" Dean slung one of the duffel's over his shoulder and threw the other one back in Sam's lap. "Let's get you out of here while the going's good."
Sam wasn't prepared to say 'yes' but he didn't really have a choice. He let Dean push him out of the room and down the hall. Their final stop: the billing department. Dean left Sam several feet away from the clerks desk while he went to clear up their bill and make the first installment of payments. Sam couldn't hear a word that was said, but he watched with curiosity at the exchange between Dean and the clerk. He'd watched shock, confusion, and anger cross his brother's face before Dean came storming back to where Sam sat.
"What happened over there?" Sam questioned.
"Don't worry about it," Dean snapped, jerking the wheelchair a little too quickly in his effort to leave.
"Dean, I'm not a little kid. They're my hospital bills. I think I should know what's going on with them."
"They don't exist any more. Someone paid them already."
"Well that's great," Sam piped up eagerly. "Why are you so pissed– ohh." The realization struck him like a slap in the face. "It was Dad, wasn't it."
Dean grumbled under his breath, barely audible to Sam. But Sam got his answer. "Bastard couldn't even be bothered to call and find out how you're doing, but he's got the nerve to pay off the bills as though that's gonna make his absence alright. He's got no right."
Dad didn't even ask about me. He should have come. He should have at least called. It's obvious he got the messages, so why couldn't he be bothered to check on me? "So Dad knows about me?" Sam asked weakly.
Dean steamed. He was so mad at his father he could spit nails, but Sam didn't need to be worrying about that. Dean wiped the emotion from Sam's view, burying it deep within his subconscious,and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, Sam. The man only cares about himself. You've got me, and that's all that matters. Let's get you into this car."
They had arrived at the Impala, parked right out in front of the hospital. Dean quickly tossed the two duffels into the back seat and pulled out the transfer board, handing it to Sam. "Ready for this?"
"No. But I've got to start somewhere." Sam took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the task. He lifted the handle of the chair out of the way and removed his feet one at a time from the foot rests, flipping the rests up as he went.
Dean stood over him, arms crossed nervously, feeling helpless. "I'm here for you if you need me."
Sam didn't answer. He was concentrating too hard on his transfer into the car. The transfer board, a polished rectangle of wood that was used to slide his body from one surface to another had been slipped under his butt and Sam was pulling himself, inch by inch, towards the passenger seat of the Impala. Success was finally his when he settled triumphantly into the center of the seat and shoved his arm under his left knee, pulling the leg into the car. As Sam moved on to the right leg Dean collapsed the wheelchair and stuffed it into the backseat along with the duffel bags. The first challenge had been fought...and won. Sam smiled in spite of himself; he'd just proven that he wouldn't need Dean for everything.
Dean used the time it took to circle the car to deal with his own emotions. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of his little brother for accomplishing the transfer on his own. He was immensely proud. But he also couldn't help mourning for the life his brother had lost. Leaving the hospital made this whole thing all too real.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road." Dean had erased the emotion from his face before climbing into the car. "What do you want to do first? Food or shelter?"
Sam didn't have to think twice. "Shelter," he answered without hesitation. "I'm exhausted."
Dean started the car, gunning the engine as he sped out of the hospital complex. It feels so good to be back in this car again, Sam thought to himself. I've really missed this. Sam stared out the window as they rolled through the city. Having talked to Laura about available motels, Dean already had a good idea where they would be going. Their destination took them right through the heart of the campus, dredging up the few memories the town had created for Sam. The little deli they had eaten at the first day seemed to pop out at him first, and Sam couldn't help noticing the two steps that led to the front door. They were two steps that had been climbed without a seconds thought that day, but now they mocked him. Guess we won't be eating there any time soon. Not inside, anyway. And there, across the street loomed the ominous Weston House. He would have nightmare's about that place for years. Don't think I'll be going in there anytime soon either. Damn this place. Damn this town. Why the hell did I have to be so insistent that we check out those attacks. We could be halfway across the country by now, far away from this god-forsaken nightmare if I'd just kept my bloody suspicions to myself.
"You OK over there? You're awfully quiet." Sam glanced over at his brother, worry etched all over his face. Dean wasn't stupid. He knew what Sam was thinking about. He'd seen the anguish that consumed Sam as they drove through the campus. He'd felt it himself.
"Yeah," Sam replied far too quickly. "Of course. I'm fine. Just thinking."
"You're sure?" Dean didn't look convinced.
"Positive." Sam's emotionless voice did little to aid in conforting his older brother.
Dean eyed Sam, still suspicious. "Because you know I'm not much for the chick flick moments, but I'm willing to give it a go...if you need to talk."
"Dammit, Dean, I said I'm fine," Sam exploded. "Just drop it already, will you?"
The rest of the drive was made in uncomfortable silence. Dean spent it moping. Sam had just snapped at him. Here he was giving Sam the perfect opening to spill his guts, an opportunity Sam was constantly nagging him for, and his little brother had refused. Sam's silence was more due to his inability to express in words the way he felt. He knew it was a rare opportunity for Dean to solicit emotions, but he just wasn't ready to talk. No matter how much he wanted to, Sam just couldn't give Dean what he wanted, nor could Dean give Sam what he needed.
Dean pulled the car into the carport beside the motel office, getting out and slamming the door without a word. Sam flinched. Dean's pissed. Why the hell should I feel guilty just because I don't want to talk? I'm the one who got hurt. I'm the one who has to deal with this. Why should I make this any easier on him?
The young clerk barely glanced up as Dean entered the lobby, a bell over the door announcing his presence. "I need to get a room," Dean announced, leaning against the tall counter. "We'll be staying a while."
"Not a problem. You need smoking or non?" The boy still refused to look up, but turned to the computer on his desk and began typing.
"Non. Two beds."
"How are you paying for this?"
Dean pulled out the envelope Laura had presented him. "It'll be cash. I'll pay a week in advance."
"Anything else you need?"
Dean's voice betrayed him, choking on the words. "It– it needs to be handicapped accessible. M– my brother's in a wheelchair." There. I said it. First time's the hardest and I said it.
Unimpressed, the bored clerk tapped a few more buttons on his keyboard, took the cash, and then handed Dean the keys to the room. "Room 9," he intoned. "It's on the bottom floor. There's a ramp just to the left of the room. Anything else you need, just ask."
"Th– thanks." With nothing more he needed to do Dean had no choice but to return to the car and Sam. We're starting fresh. If Sam doesn't want to talk I'm not gonna force him to. I should be glad he doesn't want to talk.
Dean plastered a smile on his face as he climbed back into the car. "We've got a room," he announced with far more enthusiasm than was necessary.
Sam nodded. "Terrific."
After parking the car in front of their new home Dean and Sam reversed the process they'd executed in front of the hospital. Sam's second transfer attempt was just as successful as the first and he was soon steering the wheelchair up the shallow ramp towards their room. Dean followed, laden down with all their luggage. Stepping around his brother, Dean unlocked the door to their room and swung it open wide for Sam to enter, confused as he watched his brother's face fall.