Chapter 6 - Healing
Disclaimer: see chapter one.
It took a few days but Dean's leg gradually began to heal, the wound stopped looking so angry, the blood stopped seeping through and the tear began to show signs that it would knit. It still caused Dean discomfort but Sam kept it clean and dressed and Dean took the antibiotics and more painkillers than Sam had ever known him take. So when the day came that Dean refused them, Sam was reassured that it was finally healing properly.
They'd talked a lot over those few days, reminiscing with amusing anecdotes from their childhood, Sam telling Dean about his time at Stanford, Dean had even shared tales of a couple of the jobs he'd been on alone whilst Sam had been away. Nothing substantial, no dangerous territory, just a gentle gradual healing of another type of wound.
Now, however, Dean was beginning to get stir crazy and so it was with some relief that he was finally able to stand and walk a short distance alone. The weather was fine so Sam put him a chair outside the door of the motel and he made his way there to sit and soak up the sun whilst watching the world go by. When Sam returned from a walk an hour later, his mood was relaxed. Sam went past him and into the room picking up their bags and dumping them on the nearest bed. 'What are you doing in there, dude?'
Sam smirked, 'Just thought we might both appreciate some clean clothes. Otherwise when we start hunting again, the demons will smell us coming.'
'Oh, right.' He was getting tired again, Sam could tell, the snark just wasn't there when he got tired. Sam had a strong suspicion it meant that the pain was getting too much, but if Dean didn't want to take the painkillers he wasn't going to force them on him.
He was almost through sorting his bag when his hand touched the envelope he'd put out all those days ago. He drew it from the bag and looked at it, then moved round to prop it on the nightstand next to Dean's bed. Now would be a good time to heal some more wounds.
Stuffing both sets of dirty washing into his own bag, he walked to the door. 'You want a hand back in, before I go?'
'No, I'm good. I'll maybe go in a minute, have a lie down. I think I might be up to some real food tonight though.'
'Real food, Dean?' Like food with vegetables?'
'Well, maybe. Or maybe I mean real food like burger and fries or pizza. What do you reckon?'
'Sounds good. I'm glad you're thinking that way, I could go with either myself.' Okay so Dean's idea of real food wasn't necessarily really healthy, but at least he was thinking of eating again. He'd not eaten more than a bagel or toast in days now.
'Remember, separate your darks and lights. Don't shrink anything and…'
'I can manage the washing without your tips, Dean. Trust me. I'll be back in a while and we'll decide on food then unless you…'
'Like I said, I'm good. Now go. I'll go sit inside soon; it's getting cooler out here. You have left me something else I can put on in there?'
'Yeah. See you soon.'
Dean watched him go and sighed. He was feeling the cold, he figured it probably had something to do with not moving around. Sam was more than likely right, he should go inside and with that he eased himself up and walked slowly back inside, dragging the chair with him. He pushed the door to behind him, abandoning the chair to the side and heading wearily for his bed.
Gratefully, he sank down onto the bed. It took him a few minutes to summon up the energy to pull his legs up onto the bed and he winced at the pain it induced to do so. He made himself as comfortable as possible and then closed his eyes, hoping that the throbbing would cease. He'd told Sam he didn't need the painkillers anymore, the pain wasn't so bad, it hadn't been the truth. In a truth he would only acknowledge even to himself when Sam wasn't around, his leg was still agony most of the time, but at least he could test it out now, test out his own endurance. There was no point in masking it, or not from himself anyway.
He opened his eyes to reach for the TV remote, maybe he could find something worth watching that would take his mind off the leg. His eyes settled on an envelope propped on the nightstand. He reached over and took it, wondering what Sam was playing at now.
He opened it and took out the papers inside and started to read.
Dear Dean,
You would probably find it amusing to know that this is not the first time I have started this letter. It's not even the second or third, there is a growing pile of screwed up balls of paper next to me on the floor. Why is it that it is so difficult to write to you? Even the assignments I've been doing haven't been this hard to write, do you realise that?
He sighed. No wonder Sam had been tiptoeing round him for the last few days. He must have found the letters. Little Shit! Going through other people's bags, didn't he know the meaning of the word 'private'. Dean sighed, he had no doubt whatsoever that Sam was going to want to talk as well. Sam was nothing if not predictable.
He sighed again and went back to reading the letters. It was hard to believe how muchthey'd talked over the last few days but neither had really touched on the truth of being apart, what Sam would call the really important stuff.
Don't worry, I've no intention of telling them anything about my past but it makes me sad that because I say nothing about the past, I say nothing about you, about how you did all you did for me and got me here where I wanted to be.
Dean closed his eyes. How easy it had been to assume that Sam had gone there, made friends and never thought about what he'd left behind, that he'd forgotten his brother. Dean regretted his misguided thoughts that his brother had been selfish. He hadn't realised that it would be so hard for him to fit in, so many things he'd never experienced, things Dean hadn't known about and so hadn't been able to teach him.
In my heart, I have believed for a long time now that the life you and Dad are leading is not the life Mom wanted for us. I know that you will say I don't remember her and that you and Dad do and that I shouldn't talk about things I don't understand but Dean, I do understand. I understand, because for all of my life, you made sure that I knew just how much Mom loved me. You told me about what it was like before she died, the things she did and how she smelled and looked and smiled and spoke.
He regretted how often he forgot that Sam had never known Mom, that all he had to go on were his descriptions, regretted that Sam had never known her and relied on his patchy memory to build a picture of her and that he had long ago become unsure of which bits were real memories and which bits were stories he made up to fill in the gaps for Sam. That between them, they could never get her back, never work out what was real, what she would have really wanted. He wiped tears from his eyes and picked up the next letter.
I have written the most god-awful letter to you and I know it will hurt you and I hate myself for it but I don't know what else to say to you. I've said I don't want you to come and join me anymore but it isn't entirely true.
He remembered the letter Sam had sent, the one telling him he didn't want him anymore, the one telling him he was a loser, okay not in those words, but it was what he had believed Sam had meant. Yet here was a letter saying he hadn't meant it, a letter that said he had wanted to protect Dean from realising he wouldn't fit in with Sam's friends, a letter saying that he still worried about Dean being safe and well.
Maybe Sam was right, maybe they did need to talk. It was going to be anything but easy, maybe they could do it bit by bit, not all at once, he didn't think he could manage that. Sam was right they needed to sort things out.
'Hey you. Ready for something to eat then?'
'Sam.' He looked up at his brother. He needed to say something, make some acknowledgement of what he'd read, what he'd learnt. 'Umm. Errr! Thanks and erm… maybe we should talk about…' well if he was going to do this well throughout he wasn't making a good start, maybe there wasn't much point in talking, maybe this would put Sam off talking.
'Yeah, sure! Later or whatever! But like I said Food, we need sustenance, man. Pizza or burger?' Relief washed over Sam, and he knew that now was the time to deflect, it would be too stressful to start talking about it all straightaway, a little here and a little there and soon things would be easier.
'Whichever is closer.'
'We've never picked what we eat that way before?' Sam half-laughed. 'Burger it is then. The usual with all the trimmings?'
'Sure.' He didn't sound convinced but Sam just wanted him to eat something more substantial than he'd consumed in the last few days.
'Back soon.'
Maybe the conversation could start as they ate. A little bit here and a little bit there and gradually old wounds and scars would heal. They'd be all right, the Winchester boys. They would have one another's backs at least for now. And when they were no longer hunting together, well they would always be brothers and they would still have one another's backs, it would just be different and different wasn't always bad.
Author's Note: Okay, so I'm amending this. This was supposed to be the last chapter but then an Epilogue came to me and needed to be written, so there is one more to read - they've started talking - how does it go? Read on to find out.
