A/N:I just want to say thanks to everyone that's still reading this. I know it is kinda dragging on a little too long, but I had to toss this chapter in for Vanessa per her request. I know it's not necessarily what you were looking for, but it was the best I could do with the limited info I could find. Hope you all like it anyway!
Oh, and as always, thank you for all the great feedback you keep giving me even though I'm so pathetic at responding to it. I am grateful for each and every comment left!!
Chapter 22 (Jeez, is there no end to this story?)
Dean had been absolutely right in his assessment of how his day was going to go as he lay in his bed utterly exhausted and more than half asleep while he let the events of the last few hours run themselves through his mind. All in all, it hadn't necessarily been a bad day, but it hadn't gone exactly the way he'd hoped it would either and now that it was over, he was just grateful to be able to close his eyes and listen to the quiet of the room as he replayed the day in his head so he could answer all of the inevitable questions Sam would ask later.
It had been the pain that had dragged him from his sleep in the wee hours of the morning, the pain that he was very much accustomed to by now but just couldn't seem to get used to, even though it was always there in one way or another. Usually, it would just be a dull ache that amounted to nothing more than an annoying nuisance and he'd ignore it as best he could, but sometimes it would burn through his entire midsection like gladiators were having violent chariot races to the death complete with flailing whips and chains in his intestines. He had actually thought about waking Sam, but quickly dismissed the idea when he heard the deep, rhythmic breathing coming from his little brother's direction. Sam was actually in a peacefully deep sleep and since that happened only on the rarest of occasions, he wasn't going to do anything to disturb that. He just rolled onto his side, curled himself into a little ball and waited for the intense pain to die itself down like it always eventually did.
Bobby had heard him fidgeting in the bed as he dozed in the lazy boy next to Sam but didn't really think anything of it until the pained groan that had drifted through the air and across the room settled in his ears; the groan Dean hadn't even realized he'd let out. Consulting his internal clock and determining it to be nearly four in the morning already, he decided it was time to get up anyway and as quietly as he could, drug himself to his feet and across the dark room to investigate the cause of the disconcerting noise before Sam ever caught wind that something was amiss. He took one look at Dean's scrunched up, pain contorted face and snuck out of the room so quietly neither Sam nor Dean had heard him. The nurse that returned with him had been nearly as quiet as Bobby had been when he left and between the two of them they silently got him to swallow down whatever it had been that Mark had ordered them to start a regime of once he finally woke up.
Slowly the agony inside him reduced itself to nearly nothing and Bobby could hear his breathing even out as his body relaxed. Dean stretched his legs back out and laid there waiting to inevitably fall back asleep now that they had drugged him up again, but the usual drowsiness after drugs never came. The longer he laid still and stared at the ceiling, the better he felt and for the first time in what seemed like a long time, he actually felt pretty damn good. Even the headache he'd perpetually had was gone for the moment, making 'good' somewhat of an understatement. He even felt good enough to drag himself from the bed and back into the chair that was parked right next to him without one ounce of help from Bobby, who had been right there should his assistance have been needed. Pulling a blanket off the bed and throwing it over his lap as he motioned towards the door, he let Bobby wheel him out into the hallway. All eyes fixed on him as they wandered down the hall to the small social area and Bobby took up a spot directly across from where he'd parked Dean. He knew that look on Dean's face. It was that unmistakable look of the hunter inside him that wanted to know exactly what was going on and he wanted to know it now that he was ready to hear it.
Bobby told him everything from start to finish without Dean interrupting him once. Some of what the man said he already knew, but a lot of it he didn't and he just shook his head occasionally in acknowledgement at each new piece of information Bobby offered. Sam had never actually told him the severity of most of his injuries and as the older man filled him in on exactly what his body had been through he couldn't help but feel a little sick for what must have been going through Sam's mind during all of that time. He had been gratefully able to sleep during the entire ordeal, but his brother had to watch day in and day out as things would go from bad to worse to grim, then back to worse before finally getting better. The thought also occurred to Dean that Bobby had been forced to watch it all too, even though you would never know it by the sound of his voice. It was the look in his eyes that gave him away though, and Bobby had been just as effected by it as Sam had.
Casually clearing his throat as if nothing was wrong when he was finally done relaying what had probably been one of the worst months of his life, Bobby switched subjects to the issue at hand. He didn't need to explain what was going on with Trent to Dean, that part of the story Dean already knew. What he did need to tell him was that everywhere they had looked so far they had come up empty at finding his lair and they were starting to run out of places to search. He really only had six more possible locations and if they came up empty there, it would be back to the old drawing board. Bobby had hoped that Dean could shed some light on this particular dilemma, but as much as he did know about what was going on, on this subject he was still in the dark. Trish hadn't been able to shed any light on Trent's whereabouts either because she either didn't have time to tell him or she just didn't know.
By the time they were done tossing ideas back and forth between the two of them it was nearly eight in the morning and Bobby really wanted to get a move on. Dean had been a little more than overwhelmed at what Bobby had told him earlier and really just wanted some time alone to think. It had taken a lot of convincing, but he did finally talk the older man into taking his little brother with him, the argument that Sam needed a break even more than he did being the ultimate reason he finally agreed, only if Dean woke Sam up while he went on a coffee run and promised that he would have Sam ready to go by the time he got back. Dean readily accepted the man's terms and wheeled himself back into the room as Bobby hit the elevators and set about waking his brother up.
Sam had sluggishly walked his way to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him a little harder than he had really needed to after he had forced him to get up and Dean could hear him going about his usual business of the morning. He couldn't help but wonder to himself when he'd be able to enjoy the feeling of the morning's first trip to the toilet again, but fully intended on asking when Mark decided to make his appearance sometime during the earlier part of the day. He knew the doctor would come to check on him sometime before lunch, he'd vaguely heard him tell Sam so when he was half asleep the day before as the man sewed his thumb closed and hoped it would be while Sam and Bobby were still gone. There were just some things he needed to ask that Sam just didn't need to know.
By the time Sam had finished his business, washed his hands and brushed his teeth, Bobby had returned and was standing in the doorway of the room; cross-armed and patiently tapping his foot on the floor while holding a big cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand for Sam as he sipped from the one he held in the other. The youngest of the three men shuffled out of the tiny lavatory, rubbing his eyes and yawning and gave Dean an overly concerned look when he noticed that Bobby had brought back more than one giant Starbuck's cup besides his own to the room.
"Dean, do you really think you should be drinking that?" Sam had asked him in that annoying, motherly tone that he hated so much and he answered him with a quick, even-toned response.
"Yeah, I do. It's not gonna kill me and I haven't had coffee in…umm…how long have I been here?"
"Too long," was all Sam could say as he shook his head before taking his own cup from Bobby's hands and started downing the much needed jolt of caffeine as Dean emptied his own cup down his throat and felt the warm liquid hit his empty stomach like a hot poker fresh from the fireplace.
He felt his stomach muscles involuntarily clench in preparation of his mouth spreading the coffee he'd just drank entirely too fast back out and all over the floor but when he realized it had just been the fact that he had chugged the nearly scalding hot liquid that his stomach hadn't been ready for and that it was indeed going to stay put, he breathed a huge internal sigh of relief. He threw his brother the biggest smile he could as he watched Sam stuff the remnants of the second strawberry cream coated, sprinkle ridden sugar buzz Bobby had also brought back with him into his mouth. He was anxious for the two of them to leave, knowing that Julia would be around soon enough to begin his torture for the day. Today though, today would be different. Today, he would actually be making an effort.
After three or four 'Are you sure you'll be ok' questions from Sam and an equal amount of 'Yes Sam, now please go' responses from Dean, Bobby finally took some initiative and dragged the apprehensive young man from the room and out of the building, leaving Dean blessedly alone. Alone for all of twenty minutes before Mark showed up, his face sporting that happy-go-lucky plastered on fake smile when he'd walked in that quickly turned into a deep frown when he saw that Dean was by himself. Sam had told him everything that had happened the day before… everything, and Mark couldn't figure out what on god's green earth could have made Sam decide it was alright to leave Dean alone, until he started talking to him, that is.
Dean had shot out one question after another to the doctor and his head nearly started spinning when he realized that this must be the real Dean, the Dean that had been buried deep inside that bruised, broken and battered body that was always seemingly trapped behind sedatives and drugs and could never really find a way to show his own face through the haze. With one amazingly intelligent question after another being asked and the answers all apparently being totally understood, Mark could see why Sam never gave up on him, even when it didn't look like there would be any hope he would live. By the time Dean had run out of things to ask and decided the conversation was over, Mark was slightly stunned that he had been talking to the same person that had just yesterday tried ending his own life, but he no longer questioned Sam's decision to leave him alone. Dean, it seemed, was just fine today.
No sooner had Mark left had breakfast been delivered along with another dose of whatever it was they'd given him earlier to quell the nearly excruciating pain he'd been in and Dean was ready for his next challenge of the morning. He knew if the coffee he had practically inhaled on an empty stomach stayed down, the god awful hospital food sitting in front of him should be no problem and considering the fact that he was actually hungry for the first time in days, he'd cleaned the tray in record time. Nearing 9:15 in the morning, Dean just turned himself to face the door, sat there in his chair pondering what Mark had told him and waited.
Try as he may, Dean could do nothing to convince the doctor to remove the last vestige of his temporary disabilities, telling him that if he didn't heal enough before they took it out, he'd be worse off than he was before the injuries had occurred in the first place. Three more days, it would be at least three more days, maybe more, before he would be free, free of the remaining restraints that were limiting his movements. Ignoring the 'maybe more' at the tail end of what Mark had said, Dean focused on three days. He had three days to convince them all he was fine because if he had to spend anymore than three more days sitting in that chair with that last remaining tube stuck up there where it clearly didn't belong, he'd probably go nuts. That and the fact that he desperately wanted to just take a shower. That, at least, could be arranged.
Right on schedule she walked into the room like she did every day for the past two days now at ten a.m. on the dot and she was a little startled to see him sitting there waiting for her with a smile on his face. She had never seen him show any emotion other than belligerence and irritation or hostility, and that was putting it mildly. Mark had told her what had happened and this was definitely not what she had expected when she walked in the door today.
"Good morning Dean," she tentatively asked, then waited for him to respond. Usually it was with something along the lines of 'What's so f'n good about it?' or 'That's your opinion, so keep it to yourself', but today had been different.
"Hey," was the pleasantly toned, one word response and for a second she thought she would be rendered speechless. She dared to ask another question now that her toe was in the water and the temperature seemed a little warmer than usual.
"How do you feel today?" She asked next, the typical response to that being 'I'm fine'.
"Pretty damn good," he lightheartedly tossed the comment and this time she really had been rendered speechless. She gave her head a little shake to snap her back to the reality she had unbelievably found herself in and prayed he would stay as pleasant as he was right now until the end.
"You ready to stretch?" She inquired with her own smile on her face figuring there was no time like the present to start.
"Already did," he answered her. He hadn't just been sitting there staring at the door doing nothing for forty-five minutes, after all.
"Alright then, let's see what we can get done today," she said as she pulled the tools of her trade in from the hallway and went about emptying them one by one onto the floor. Dean had a hard time figuring out how such a little woman could haul around such a big bag with her, especially after she pulled out one piece of equipment after another, each one heavier then the last. By the time she had emptied the sack, she'd brought out over a hundred pounds of weights and Dean was a little more than impressed. "Well, yesterday we ended with…"
"Just give me the fives," he cut her off as he extended both hands and she couldn't help but frown.
"Are you sure? Yesterday you couldn't…" she started, but he cut her off again.
"Yeah I'm sure. That was yesterday," he stated as he extended his hands out even further, their steadiness also surprising her also. She caught no glimpse of the shakiness they'd had yesterday and against her better judgment, she gave him the two five-pound weights he'd requested.
Taking one in each hand, he rested his arms against the sides of the chair he sat in with his palms pointed inwards and took in a deep breath before raising each weighted fist to nearly shoulder height and holding it for a quick count of three before dropping them back down again. Julia silently stood there and watched him repeat the process ten times in quick succession before finally dropping his arms rather limply back down onto the arm rests, only to see him suck in another deep lungful of air and do it again. Ten more times he carried the weight up and down, relaxing after the final lift for just a moment before doing it again. By the time he was done with the third set he seemed mildly amused.
"Can I have the tens?" He innocently asked her and this time she did fully protest.
"Dean, I think you may be pushing that a little too much. I know you think that it's only five pounds and I bet you're not used to having such a hard time with such a minimal amount of weight, but I think…"
"Really, I can handle it," he informed her as he gave her a determined stare and somehow she just couldn't say no to him. She took the weights he had from him and handed him the weights he wanted and watched him repeat the entire process again.
The added weight was a little more than Dean had expected and each repetitive movement became increasingly more difficult but there was no way he was stopping, not until he was done. By the time he had finished the first set of ten he had broken out in a light sweat. By the time he had finished the second set of ten, he was stifling a groan with each raise of his arms. By the time he finished the third set of ten, he had sweat dripping down his face and the last two had been an enormous struggle as he just gritted his teeth and forced his arm up on sheer will alone. He had done them though and that's all that mattered to him. Unable to even hold the weight in his hands now that his arms felt like jello, he just let them drop to the floor and breathed in deeply as he tried to prepare himself for what came next. He was far from done today and he knew it, but he wasn't quitting until he either finished or passed out.
One muscle after another got a workout in the exact same manner. From his biceps to his triceps to his shoulders, they all got the same punishment until they all pretty much felt exactly the same way in the end and Dean's throat was nearly raw from the grunting and groaning. By the time he had finished abusing his entire upper body nearly two hours after he had started, he was soaked in sweat and breathing heavily as his heart pounded hard in his chest. Even Julia was exhausted and all she had pretty much done was watch now that Dean was pretty familiar with the entire routine. He'd obviously been listening to her over the last two days, he just hadn't given a shit until now.
"You alright there?" She had to ask as she stuffed one weigh after another back into the bag, somewhat concerned at the amount of time it was taking him to breathe normally again.
"Never better," he'd told her as he sucked in one more deep breath and forced his arms to work so he could wheel himself into the bathroom, the bathroom that had a shower in it that he fully intended on using whether Mark and the rest of the hospital staff liked it or not. He couldn't stop the question that came from his mouth out of nowhere as he stared into the bathroom and it took all the self control he had to not press his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. "Hey Julia, when can I start walking again?"
"As soon as there isn't anything in your way you could trip over…if you know what I mean," she answered as she pointed and he didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure that out. Three days. He'd be walking in three day.
"So, where's Sam?" She finally asked now that it was nearly time for her to leave. He'd been in a great mood when she had came in but that was before she had cranked him through a meat grinder and didn't want to leave him feeling like a pile of bloody ground beef. "He coming back anytime soon?"
"Probably, but if you're worried about leaving me alone, don't. I'm just gonna head into the bathroom here and clean up. Don't sweat it, I'll be fine."
"Well, you better make it quick. I think you're lunch may be here soon. If you're sure you're ok, I guess I'll just see you tomorrow.'
"I'll be here," he chuckled and she couldn't help but give him another big smile, a smile that for some strange reason gave him a cold chill when he saw how strikingly familiar it looked.
He shook the feeling off, attributing it to the fact that he was down right exhausted and as she left, he wheeled himself to the door right behind her and quietly locked it. She may have said he could walk when he could do it without fear of tripping over his god awful temporary appendage, but that didn't mean he had to listen. With what little energy he had left in his upper body, he wheeled himself back to the foot of the bed and stared at it for a minute, debating whether or not he actually wanted to do what he'd been contemplating all morning.
Once he decided he did, he took hold of the entire contraption attached to him and untangled it from anything that may create a stumbling hazard, "Jesus Christ, you'd think they'd make this thing easier to carry around," he groused before grasping the footboard with both hands, took in a deep breath and slowly started to stand. It wasn't easy, but after a few long minutes he did it and he nearly screamed with joy at being completely vertical for the first time in weeks. It was a good feeling, until he put weight firmly on both legs instead of just his good one. It was a good thing the chair was right behind him or he would have taken what more then likely would have been a very nasty fall to the floor when his bad leg buckled unexpectedly and most of his balance was gone and as he fell back into the seat, he just shook his head in a show of slight defeat.
"Well Dean, that was stupid," he said to himself as he caught his breath and let his racing heart rate slow back to normal before heading for the door to open it. If it was still locked when Sam came back, who knows what he would do. Still utterly exhausted, he wheeled himself into the bathroom and quickly closed the door, determined to take that shower he promised himself he'd get, come hell or high water.
Leaving the door unlocked, he slid the curtain back to expose the shower stall and nearly cried when he saw it had a seat inside. He didn't think he could do it standing up, but now he knew it was his destiny to be one with the shower gods, at least for the next few minutes. Stripping naked had been easy since all he had on was a paper thin hospital gown that was now soaked in sweat and rather gross to the touch as it clung to his skin. Tossing it onto the floor beside him, he grabbed hold of the bar that was fixed to the wall inside and pulled himself in and onto the seat before turning the water on full blast, not caring what the temperature was. He sat there and just let the water flow over him for the longest time before finding the bar of soap Sam had obviously left on the shelf next to him. He lathered up every inch of his upper body as the water ran before accidentally dropping what was left of the bar onto the shower floor.
Not bothering to reach for the remnants of the bar as it swirled around the drain in a circular motion, he grabbed Sam's shampoo instead and squeezed a small amount into his palm, intent on washing what little hair he'd managed to grow back after they'd so inconsiderably shaved it all off to do something so trivial as to save his life. Rubbing the suds into his scalp, he ran his finger down the length of the long scar that he hoped would eventually be hidden underneath the growth that was slowly making a come back, the feeling of the hard tissue surrounded by the soft skin making him shudder somewhat. Rinsing what little shampoo he'd used out, he just sat there in the stream until the water started running cold, then just turned the water off entirely and sat naked in the chilly air until he started to shake.
The hot water had totally relaxed him and if he wasn't so cold, he probably would have fallen asleep right there with his head resting against the wall, but since he was naked and wet and cold, he figured he better at least make the effort to get himself back into his bed before someone found him in a rather embarrassing position. Realizing he had no towel within arms reach as he pushed back the shower curtain, he just grabbed the handle of the chair and pulled it as close to him as he could to the stall and miraculously got himself back into it. He was too tired to even bother looking for anything to put on, so he just wheeled himself back to the bed and with the last bits of strength he had, stood on his good leg and deposited himself back onto the mattress. Crawling his wet body back under the covers, he pulled the blankets up to his chin and let his eyes close, fully intending on drifting back to sleep until Sam and Bobby returned.
"Damn, what a day," he said to himself as his mind raced and his eyes closed, the thought that it was barely afternoon meaning nothing at the moment. He'd made it through an entire morning without feeling any pain or throwing up and that was good enough for him. Now, he could only hope Sam and Bobby's day had gone so well.
End Notes: Yeah, I know it was a lot of fluff, but I needed a break from all the drama I've been spitting out lately. I hope it didn't bore you all too much.