Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchester boys, no matter how often my dreams lead me to a different conclusion. Darn.
Hey guys! Wow, talk about some serious writer's block. I know where I'm going with this story, but I felt I needed just a few fillers to get to that point. Unfortunately, they just didn't want to be written, and coming off of last chapter, I just couldn't get it even near the quality. It might be a little choppy, but this should get us to where I want to be. Hope you don't have any problems following it. Thanks again, so much for all your touching reviews. I'm so glad you liked the last chapter - I think it was my favorite, too. Please keep reading; it will pick up again in the next installment. I promise.
Dean awoke first, his stomach protesting loudly from its unexpected fast the day before. It had been close to 24 hours since any food had passed his lips, and he was famished. As quietly as he could, Dean dressed and snuck out of the room.
Across the street from the motel, Dean had his pick of fast food restaurants. Selecting one, he ordered six breakfast sandwiches, hashbrowns, and 2 extra large orange juices, ignoring the strange look the girl at the counter was giving him. Even if I did plan on eating them all myself, what business is it of yours?
It was the rustling of the bags and the smell of the greasy food that brought Sam around, and he sat up, bracing himself with his elbows, as he squinted at Dean through eyes still swollen from their sob fest the day before.
"Morning," Sam said timidly. A knot formed in his throat as he watched Dean stiffen. However involuntary the reaction, it still told Sam a lot. Dean was still hurt by his hatful words.
"Here, I brought you some breakfast," Dean said, through a facade of light-heartedness. He tossed the bag with three of the sandwiches and an order of hashbrowns onto the bed. "Eat up. You need your strength."
Through the corner of one eye Dean saw Sam pull himself further up the bed so he could lean against the headboard as he ate. He hated the way Sam had to strain, his uncooperative legs following lifelessly behind as he dragged himself into position. So much effort for such an everyday task. Kinda makes you realize how much stuff we take for granted.
Sam unwrapped the first sandwich and ate it greedily. He's forgotten how long it had been since the last time he ate, and the greasy food tasted exceptionally good to his barren stomach. He savored every last bite of the packaged heart attack-waiting-to-happen.. They ate without speaking, the only sounds those of chewing and slurping. But the food was soon gone, and the silence became deafening.
Taking the undesired lead, Sam broke the silence. "Dean...about yesterday."
"I don't want to talk about it Sam," Dean was quick to interject.
Sam flinched. He hadn't missed Dean's blatant emphasis on his name. Dean had granted Sam's request, but the triumph felt far from triumphant. Sam let several more minutes pass before he tried again.
"Are we OK?"
"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Dean snapped, but he turned this time, getting a good look at his brother's hopeful face, and sighed. "We're as good as we can be...under the circumstances. Just give me some time to forget. OK?"
A flicker of relief passed over Sam's face as he nodded. "OK."
As Dean set off for the sink to brush his teeth, Sam chewed nervously on his bottom lip. Dean was on edge, so he had to plan his words perfectly. He had two problems; one, his wheelchair sat halfway across the room, where Dean had left it when he carried Sam to the bed the night before, and far out of Sam's reach. For the time being, he was trapped helplessly on the bed. Two, Sam had come to the realization that proper hygiene was long overdue. The sponge baths he'd gotten at the hospital, though sexy as hell being given by those cute little nurses, just wouldn't do any more.
"Dean?" Sam squeaked nervously.
"What, Sam?" There was the flatness in his voice. It had become the thing to do; keep the emotion out of his voice. Keep Sam guessing.
"I, uh...I...need a shower," He said, finally spitting out the words as though he were asking a question.
"So take a shower," Dean replied matter-of factly. He never turned around.
"Well that's just it," Sam continued meekly, stammering. "At the hospital the nurses...well they never really got around to showing me how to...you know..." Sam's face flushed a brilliant beet red as he trailed off.
Dean understood, though. "Awwww, Sam," Dean protested, rolling his eyes. But he didn't take it any farther than that. Proud as he was, Dean knew his little brother would never be asking for help of this magnitude if he truly didn't believe it warranted help. The humiliation was written undeniably across Sam's face.
"It's just that the soap and water make things so slippery, and my balance isn't all that great yet. I don't want to fall." Sam was looking everywhere but at Dean, avoiding any possibility of making eye contact with him.
"Yeah, Sam. I'll help you. I'll get you in there. And I'll make sure you don't fall. But you're washing yourself," he added quickly.
Sam pushed the wheelchair forward into the spacious bathroom, eying the tub nervously. "Who woulda thought," he said, half to himself, half out loud. "I've faced all those demons without blinking an eye, and yet here I am...nervous about taking a freakin bath." However, Sam's vague attempt at humor did nothing to alleviate his fears. The tub still stared menacingly at him, taunting him.
"So what do we do first?" Dean questioned, hands crossed awkwardly across his chest.
Sam shrugged. "I don't know. You're the one who's been doing all the reading up on this subject. What do all your pamphlets and website's tell you?"
Dean racked his brain, the uncomfortable feeling of the situation clouding his mind. "I guess you gotta get undressed and into that seat, first," he answered, unsure if it was logic talking or something he'd read. Everything had jumbled in his mind. It was the most studying Dean had done in, well, ever.
Sam pulled off his shirt without difficulty, but Dean had to help him with the shorts, and then lifted him under his armpits and swung him gracelessly onto the stool. Sam sat naked and shivering on the bath stool, waiting for Dean to get the water temperature right. "Here, at least cover yourself up down there," Dean ordered, tossing a towel to Sam. "I'm willing to help you, but I'm sure as hell not looking at the full monty for this whole thing. It's weird enough as it is."
Grateful for the towel, Sam laid it across his lap and waited less than patiently for Dean to get everything set up. "It's not like this is a picnic for me either. Never in my wildest nightmares did I expect I'd be getting a bath from my big brother at 22."
The water felt so good pounding against his back and shoulders, and for the first five minutes Sam simply sat, reveling in the beating massage of water drops. It seemed like years since he'd experienced that pleasure. Dean's annoyed voice brought Sam back to reality. "Sam, get a move on. This is really uncomfortable for me. Can we just get this over with?"
"Fine." Sam reached to the edge of the tub for the washcloth draped over the side, feeling secure with Dean's strong hand bracing his shoulder.
xxxxxxx
An hour later Sam was clean, dressed, and again sitting in the torture trap the rest of the world called a wheelchair. He stared blankly at the TV, absently massaging his thighs, the fact that the set wasn't even on failing to register in his mind. Dean had returned to his zombie like trance in front of the laptop, still searching for anything that could help, his earlier awkwardness replaced by determination. Sam was blatantly ignoring Dean's suggestion that he work on his exercises, having stubbornly replied Harry's gonna be here this afternoon. I'll wait. So, it was silence that they now sat in; pure, unadulterated silence.
They both jumped when Dean's cellphone rang. Sam listened to Dean's end of the conversation, alternating between annoyance and relief as he answered Laura's questions about their first day out of the hospital. Dean had been kind enough to leave out the part about their argument, but that pretty much left him with We checked into the hotel, I went for a jog, and when I got back I put Sam to bed.
Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for sounding so pathetic. What kind of man has to have his brother put him to bed? That's just great. She must think I'm a total wimp, now.
Hanging up the phone, Dean looked nervously at his little brother. "Sooo, uh...we're gonna meet Laura for lunch."
Sam glared at Dean. "Like hell we are. I'm not going out in public in this thing."
"You don't have a choice, Sam, my boy. I'm not leaving you here alone again, and I want to see Laura. Beside's you have to eat."
Who the hell does he think he is? "I'm not a baby, Dean. I can take care of myself."
"Our little group shower an hour ago tells me differently," Dean mocked. "I'll carry you to the car if I have to, but you're coming. Think of it as the first step in paying me back."
Sam blushed. Why does he have to rub it in? It's not like I wanted his help. "Alright, fine. I'll go. But we eat and leave. You two want to talk, you bring her back here."
Dean nodded. "Deal. Let's get moving."
Sam wheeled through the door to the diner, filled with apprehension. Was it his imagination, or had every eye in the place just turned to him and stared. Was that sympathy? Pity? Curiosity? Immediately feeling self-conscious, Sam dropped his eyes to his chest, avoiding eye contact. In the meantime, Dean spotted Laura and joined her at the table, leaving Sam alone to confront the gawkers. Still not looking up, Sam pushed forward, following his brother's feet to the table. The aisles were small, and the restaurants patrons had spread out, not considering Sam's needs. He made it just a few feet before running into the first obstacle, a chair pushed halfway out into the tiny aisle. Its occupant, a young male collegiate, eyed Sam nervously as Sam muttered 'excuse me,' but quickly scooted the chair in so he could pass.
"Sorry, buddy," the kid had replied, angering Sam. He'd noted the tone of condescension, or had he imagined it. Either way, Sam felt belittled.
Sam continued past the kid, cursing Dean and the restaurant. Why the hell did he have to make me come? Why does this place have to be so small? Could she have possibly chosen a table further away from the door? A shrill 'oww' interrupted his thoughts this time, and Sam looked up just in time to see a waitress hopping slightly, pain written across her face. He'd just run over her toe, and the canvas shoes she wore had done little to protect it.
"I'm so sorry," Sam stammered, his face turning red for the third time that day. "I uh, I'm still getting used to this thing."
"It's alright, honey," the waitress replied in a thick southern drawl. "I didn't need that toe anyway. Got me another nine, should do me just fine. Here, doll, why dontcha let me give you a hand over to your table. Where ya sittin?"
"Over there," Sam replied weakly, pointing to the table where Dean was already deep in mating ritual with Laura. His brother was determined to get some ass that night, and Sam be damned.
"Well let's just get ya over there and get some nourishment in that stomach of yours. Little good ole' fashioned country style food is just what you need."
The waitress delivered Sam safely to the table as Dean looked up, almost surprised to find his brother was only just getting there. Laura turned to face him too, a bright smile lighting up her face. "Sam! I'm so glad you came. How are you?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Everyone's in my way, and I just ran over that poor waitresses toe," he replied sarcastically. "You tell me how I am."
Dean's head shot up, glaring at his brother as he uttered his name in warning. "Saaam."
Humility took control and Sam dropped his head in shame. "I'm sorry Laura. It's just been a hard couple of days. I didn't mean to snap."
Laura smiled warmly at Sam, understanding filling her face. "No need to apologize, Sam.
I can't say I'd react any differently if I were in your shoes." She turned to Dean. "Cut your brother some slack."
Sam reverted back to silence, deciding that would be the easiest way to get through lunch. The only time he spoke was to order his food. The rest of the time was spent listening to Dean flirt mercilessly. How can Dean be so quick to get back to normal life? How can he just sit there and pretend like he doesn't see the giant white elephant sitting in the room? Nothing is normal any more! God, this sucks.
xxxxxxxxx
Later that night, after Harry had left and they'd finished their dinner Dean left Sam in front of the TV while he and Laura went outside for some privacy. Laura had requested a walk, but Dean insisted he didn't want to leave Sam. He wasn't willing to go any further than the parking lot. As much as he wanted to be alone with Laura, Sam wasn't yet ready to be left alone all night. His suspicions were confirmed a couple hours later as he and Laura sat, deep in conversation, on the ledge outside the motel. A loud thud resounded from inside room 9, followed immediately by a loud yell. "Deeeeeeean!"