Standard Disclaimer: I own neither Dean nor Sam.
Hey guys! Thanks again for all the great reviews. I'm so excited about this chapter. I had totally meant for it to go another direction, but the words began to flow and this is the result. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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. "What the hell is this, Dean?"
For once Dean's confusion was genuine. "This is our room, Sam. What did you expect?"
"What the hell are you trying to pull? Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Sam stormed the room, his eyes darting in every direction before he swung around and faced his brother angrily.
"Sam, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Notice what? It's just a hotel room. What the hell's your problem?" Dean's exasperation was clearly evident as he pleaded with Sam to explain the source of his emotion.
"This isn't like any room we've had before," Sam snapped. "Look at it! It's huge! And there are bars everywhere. And that bathroom. What the hell is with the tub? There's a freakin' seat! What did you tell him? What kind of room did you ask for?"
Dean couldn't help himself. He had to laugh. He didn't want to, but he had no choice. It just enveloped him. Sam's tormented face was just too much as he had realized the room was handicapped accessible. "What did you expect, Sam?" Dean asked, struggling to keep his amusement to himself.
Sam glared at his brother, the chuckling not going unnoticed. "It's not funny, Dean. What were you thinking?"
Collapsing on the corner of one of the beds, Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "Dammit, you idiot, I'm trying to make things easier on you. There's more room to maneuver in here. Whether you like it or not you need this room. This room was designed specifically for people who are...are par– who are injured like you are."
"Say it, Dean!" Sam demanded. "Just say it. Say the word! Paralyzed. I'm paralyzed! Rooms like this are going to be the norm from now on! Say it!" Sam hesitated, waiting for Dean to reply, but silence was the only sound that greeted him. "You can't...can you. CAN YOU?"
Dean shook his head sorrowfully. This was it. Sam was gonna let it all out. Struggling with everything he had, Dean kept his temper under wraps as he replied calmly, "I'm not going to say it. Because it's not true. This is just a temporary setback. You've fought bigger demons than this and won...you'll beat this thing too. I believe in you, Sam."
"You believe in me?" Sam mocked. "That's so sweet, Dean. You believe in me. This isn't a paper cut, Dean. I can't just brush it to the back of my memory and expect it to go away in a few days. This is a goddamn spinal cord injury! You did the research. You're the one who spent hours at a time in front of that damn lap top. You said yourself the spine doesn't regenerate the way the rest of the body does. You said yourself the only way this can get better is if I fight with everything I have, and even then there's no guarantee. So what's the point in even trying?" Tears ran down from the younger boy's eyes, staining his cheeks. His body shook from pure exertion as he balled up his fists, pounding them violently against his legs, punishing the unfeeling limbs for betraying him.
"Stop it, Sam!" Dean jumped from the bed and crossed to Sam in one stride, grabbing his wrists in a firm hold. "Don't do this to yourself. This isn't helping."
"Nothing's helping!" Sam struggled to free himself, the wheelchair, brakes forgotten, rolling around on the floor and making it impossible for Sam to brace himself enough to win the battle. "Let me go Dean! I don't want your help. You're the one who got me into this mess in the first place. This is your fault, Dean!"
Dean let go of Sam's wrists as though they'd just burned him. "How can you say that? This was your gig. You're friend. I'm sorry this happened to you, Sammy, but for once I didn't have anything to do with it."
A low, guttural growl escaped from the young hunter's throat. "It's Sam. Get it through your head, Dean! My name's not Sammy. It's not Samuel. The name is SAM! And like hell this isn't your fault." Free of his brother's grasp, Sam backed the wheelchair up with such force he knocked over the freestanding lamp beside the desk. Neither of them paid any attention to it, though, as Sam raged on. "You may not have brought us to this particular job, but you're the one who was so jealous of me being in school that you had to drag me back into this hunting thing in the first place. I would have been perfectly happy finishing my education and getting myself a nice normal job in some nice normal town. But noooo you and Dad spent so many years obsessed with finding the thing that killed mom and you wouldn't be happy until all three of us were out there hunting for it. This never would have happened if you had just left me alone!"
The blow hit him like a jackhammer, slamming into his chest. Heart pounding violently, Dean fought back the tears that threatened to fall. There it was. Sam's true feelings. This time he couldn't blame the words on a wacked out doctor possessing him, either. He had said those words on a fully functioning, coherent brain. "So that's how you feel about me?" Dean asked flatly. He was so afraid his emotions would betray him he had to force a breath between each word.
"Yeah! That's how I feel! You and Dad are two of the most selfish bastard's I've ever met in my life. You can rot in hell for all I care! It should be you in this chair. It should be you."
Wiping angrily at his face, cursing the finally falling tears as they revealed his own feelings, Dean turned his back to Sam. He jerked his hood down over his eyes and pulled the door back open. "I don't think you know what you're saying, Sam." Dean wished it were true, but he only said it to give Sam an out later. "You're hurting, and you're just taking your anger out on me because I'm here. I understand that. But I don't have to like it." He paused, debating whether or not to open himself up to his brother. Deciding it was worth it, he added quietly, "For what it's worth, Sam, I would trade places with you in a heartbeat. You don't deserve what's happened to you, and I would bear every once of pain and humiliation you're feeling if I could." With a final sideways glance at his brother, Dean disappeared out the door, leaving Sam alone.
Sam groped blindly on the desk beside him. His hand closed tightly around the television remote and in one fell swoop he tossed it violently at the door as it shut with a resounding echo. "Damn you Dean! Damn you!" The remote shattered into thousands of tiny little pieces. Sam stared mournfully at them. Well isn't that fitting. Shattered. Just like my life. It isn't fair. I've done everything right! I've been a good person! I saved lives. I killed demons. My whole life has been about doing the right thing. But mom still died. And then Jess. And now...this. What the hell did I do to deserve this?
The fight was gone in him. He had nothing left but sorrow, and Sam let the feeling devour him like a lion hunting down a wounded gazelle. His head drooped, landing with a dull thud in his open palms. Tears flowed freely as his eyes swelled and his body heaved with unbidden sobs. Everything in his life was falling apart, and he'd just run off his single lifeline. The one person on this planet who believed in him, who loved him unconditionally, yet Sam had gone too far. Dean had left, and Sam had no idea if he was ever planning on returning. He couldn't blame Dean if his older brother decided to just hop in his car and drive. Leave this town, and Sam, and simply disappear. It's what he deserved. He'd said so many hateful things. Things he could never take back no matter how hard he prostrated himself at Dean's feet, begging for forgiveness. He'd ruined everything.
Dean stormed away from the hotel in a violent rage. His first reaction had been to go to the car, but when he pulled the handle of the locked car he remembered the keys. Keys, which were sitting innocently on the bedstand, inside the hotel room, where Sam was. I'll be damned if I'm going back in there. I won't give him the satisfaction. Probably shouldn't be driving anyway. Second best way to vent anger is to exercise. Safer, too. As he'd done days before, he took off, breaking into a full gallop within seconds. It felt great to feel the crisp air hitting his face and blowing through his short, brown locks, but try as he might he couldn't get Sam's words out of his mind.
He didn't mean it. It was the anger talking. He's just confused. The words raced through Dean's mind trying to comfort him. But when he found the attempt to be profoundly unsuccessful, Dean tried saying them out loud. "He didn't mean it. He didn't meant it." His lips repeated the phrase in rhythmic pant as Dean slowed to a steady jog. "He's my brother...and I love him. He's just hurting." How would you react if it were you sitting in that chair? You'd probably do the say thing. Say the same thing. Besides, the little jerk is right. This mess is my fault. I'm his big brother. It' s my job to protect him. It's always been my job. And I failed him. I FAILED him. I'm so sorry Sammy...Sam. He want's to be called Sam. It's the least I can do. Isn't it? Sam. Sam. Dean stopped running, and collapsed, the mental exhaustion beyond overwhelming. He fell to his knees, right there in the middle of the road, and gave up the fight. If his body wanted to cry then let it cry. Few cars had passed him as he ran, and Dean felt subconsciously grateful for the deserted streets that defined the outskirts of this town. It was one thing to bawl like a baby, but another thing entirely to do it in front of an audience. Daylight turned to dusk as Dean sat in the street, mourning. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I don't want to go back. But Sam needs me. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he needs me.
Dean stood with renewed conviction. Let the bastard hate me. He can hate me all he wants. Let him use that rage to get better. I don't care what he needs as long as he uses it to walk again. Right now, that's all that matters. We'll deal with the rest when he's better. Walking slowly back to the motel, Dean spent the time convincing himself he'd made the right decision. He had a temper the size of the Grand Canyon, and he'd basically committed himself to keeping it under wraps, suppressing the rage to a minimum so that Sam could initiate all the fights without carrying any of the guilt that Dean could rain down on him. He was going to make this work.
It was completely dark when Dean arrived back at the hotel. Groping in his pocket for the hotel key, Dean leaned against the door. He felt defeated, as though he'd fought an entire army of demons and lost miserably. There might as well be an enormous black and blue bruise decorating his entire body because there wasn't an inch of him that felt untouched by Sam's wrath.
Dean reached for the doorknob, but pulled away before he could turn it. He backed up, turned angrily and then walked back to the door, making another attempt at opening it. "Damn it, I just can't do this!" He spat as he reeled away from the door for the second time.
"So are you gonna do that all night, or do you think you'll go in at some point?" The gruff voice cut through the darkness as Dean spun around to face the intruder.
"You Dean?" the voice asked. Dean could make out the glowing tip of a cigarette in the shadows across the parking lot, the silhouette of a man's face was framed in the minimal light the cigarette provided.
Dean nodded suspiciously. "Yeah, I am. And you are?"
"Your neighbor. I'm in eight." The man nodded his head towards the door to the right of Dean's room, crossing the parking lot to his young neighbor.
"How do you know my name?"
"Walls aren't exactly soundproof. I heard every word of your argument. You're brother's really pissed off."
Dean shrugged. "It's been a hard couple of weeks for him. He doesn't know how to deal with it."
"Just gotta give him some time," the man reassured Dean. "He'll get over it. Kid really loves you, ya know."
"How do you know?" Dean demanded.
"I could hear it in his voice. After you left, he called your name for like an hour. Kept crying about how sorry he was and how he didn't mean anything he'd said. I think he was afraid you'd gone for good. He's been quiet for a while now, though."
"You think he's OK?" Dean asked in a panic.
"Oh yeah, kids fine. Crashing stopped long before he stopped crying. But I had the clerk open the door a little bit ago anyway...just to check on the kid. He's sleeping. You should probably get in there, though. Can't be too comfortable sleeping in the position."
Dean nodded, grateful that the man had been concerned enough to check on Sam. "Thanks. I think I will." Again, he approached the door, this time succeeding in turning the knob and opening the door a crack.
"Oh, and Dean," the man called back to him as he entered his own room.
"Yeah?"
"Go easy on the kid."
Dean smiled in affirmation. "Right. I will." He closed the door behind him, turning on the light and froze. The room was in shambles. Sam had been busy. His feet crunched loudly as he walked over the shattered pieces of remote that lay in front of the door. Several feet away the lamp Sam had backed into during their argument still lay on its side, the shade crushed and the bulb, still in the socket, broken. The room phone lay off the hook beside the bed, the cord pulled from the wall, and the phone book was torn to shreds all over the floor between the two beds. Fragments of another lamp, which once had a lovely etched clay base, were scattered all over the floor near the bathroom. The TV, miraculously still intact, lay on it's side, silently blinking a black and white static image. The contents of both Sam's duffel bags were strewn all over the floor, but the bottle with his precious pain pills sat spilled on the desk beside a sleeping Sam in his wheelchair.
"This is gonna cost a fortune," Dean muttered to himself as Sam stirred.
The groggy face of Sam Winchester looked up at his brother through swollen eyes. "Dean? You came back." He closed his eyes again, fighting a losing battle against the power of medication.
"Yeah, little brother. I came back. Of course I came back." Strong arms scooped Sam up, out of the wheelchair. Sam looped his arms lethargically around Dean's neck and allowed his brother to carry him the short distance to the bed. Dean placed the boy gently down on the bed and slowly undressed him and then redressed him in pajamas. As he pulled the covers up to Sam's chest the young man opened his eyes up again.
"Dean," Sam whispered, dazed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"I know, Sam." Dean stooped down and began cleaning the mess of paper scattered all over the floor. He had to occupy himself.
"Dean, I mean it," Sam insisted. "I'm sorry.
"Me too, Sam. Me too."