Alright, so coming off the last couple of chapters, I really think this one leaves something to be desired. It's definitely more of a filler chapter, and somewhat more technical than the others. This is the point where I sorta wish I had a beta to run some ideas by, but then again, I'm too impatient and would very likely post the majority of my chapters before a beta had the opportunity to read them anyway. I'm the first to admit that it's not my best work, but I kept rewriting parts and it just wasn't coming together the way I wanted it, so I finally just decided to post and move on. Hope it isn't too disappointing. On the bright side, there's a part in here that I think will cheer everyone up. Dean's slowly moving out of his slump and hopefully it will show. As always, thank you so much for those totally sweet, awesome reviews. There's nothing more inciting than an inbox filled with reviews to make this humbled author want to keep writing. Thanks for reading - you all rock! And on with the story...
Sam had to give Dean credit. He tried; really put forth the effort to be accepting and understanding and even somewhat forgiving of Sam's unwitting ministrations when they returned to Missouri's house that afternoon. His brother truly seemed to have taken their conversation to heart - quid pro quo, this for that, 'you trust me and I'll trust you.'
Both seemed to back off just a bit from the intensity that had enveloped each of them in their own right. The constant need Sam had to hover over Dean, offering help where none was needed, imposing his opinion where none was asked seemed to dissipate along with Dean's insistence that he was fine and didn't need any help from anyone.
A calmness began to envelop Missouri's house after that. Not that the frustration receded any, but Dean seemed more compliant to receiving help and there were fewer words screamed out in anger and hatred at a flustered Sam. In a way, he maintained the same submissive attitude he'd displayed in the hospital, but as time went by, and Dean began to trust more and more, it seemed to become more of an agreeable submission rather than a moody one.
Dean finally conceded to letting Sam in when the phantom limb pain flared up, squeezing his brother's hand tightly as he closed his eyes, breathing raggedly through the pain. And when he finally released his brother's hand, Dean allowed him to make a mad dash to retrieve a single pain pill before returning to his station. Sam dispensed medications with measured caution, keeping all the bottles on the top shelf of a kitchen cabinet. Dean knew where they were, but the simple fact that they were downstairs, within easy sight of everyone in the house, meant they were no longer a threat.
In return for the trust Dean had once again begun to display in his brother, Sam stopped asking if he was okay every five minutes. And he gave Dean the opportunity to ask for things he needed and to tell him when to back off. There was no more insistence that Dean make a public appearance, and on the nights that Missouri didn't feel like cooking they now ordered food to be delivered.
A week went by and it seemed as though the Winchester brother's were well on their way to rediscovering that long lost trust that had begun to go missing long before their trek into the woods. Trust that had been slowly chipping away since their Dad had died.
They fell into a comfortable routine. Sam was always up before Dean, showered and dressed before his weary older sibling had even cracked his eyes open. As Dean began to stir, Sam would start collecting all the supplies: new gauze wraps, antibiotic cream, surgical tape, and the morning dose of medication. He'd lay it all out on the dresser in a neat little row and wait for Dean to finally climb from the bed, grudgingly swinging himself into the shower on his crutches.
Sam never went far when Dean was in the bathroom, constantly monitoring the small room for thumps and crashes. Coming to an understanding, Dean had begun calling out to Sam - 'I'm good!' or 'Just getting out' anytime he made a noise that sounded too much like he'd just fallen, and Sam had finally quit pounding on the door every five seconds to make sure his brother was okay.
Dean normally emerged from the bathroom fully clothed from the waist up and wearing only boxers or boxer briefs below and he would slump onto the bed and let Sam have at his now mostly healed stump, cleaning the wound and rewrapping it with a fresh layer of stark white gauze. And then, before he was dressed, they did the exercises Dr. Jennings had ordered. Five and ten pound weights were attached tightly to the healing stump to provide resistance as Dean stretched and moved his leg, rebuilding the muscles that seemed to have deteriorated far too quickly.
Today was different though. Today, Dean was irritable and testy. Today, he seemed frustrated by every obstacle in his way, and more than once he let out an annoyed cry when things didn't go his way. Because today, Dean had to go back to the rehab hospital for his prosthetic fitting, and he was scared of what would happen from there.
"They're going be doing a lot of work with you today. I think we can forego the exercises this morning," Sam said hesitantly, treading lightly with his brother's sensitive emotions. He'd learned a long time ago that certain mood swings meant an argument was on the horizon, and Sam was eager to head it off at the pass.
Dean shrugged sullenly. "Whatever you say. You're the boss."
Sam eyed Dean with concern, suddenly remembering what had happened after the last visit and wondering he had been too premature in scheduling a new appointment. "You're okay with this, right?"
Another shrug. "I guess?"
"Dean," Sam drew the word out, his tone warning. "Remember, you promised to talk to me. You said you'd let me in."
"I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
No. "Yeah. Just a little bit nervous. Not every day you get a new leg." He tried to dismiss the idea as funny, his attitude blase, but somewhere along the lines Dean had lost his ability to snark with the best of them and the words lost their edge before he even got them off his tongue.
Sam regarded him once again, debating if it was worth it to push it or if he would have better luck letting Dean talk to him on his own terms. He decided to give Dean some time; if he hadn't opened up by the time they were in the car Sam would try again.
"Alright. If you're sure," Sam dead panned. "You ready to go downstairs for breakfast?"
Dean nodded and reached for his jeans. "I could go for a nice hot cup of coffee right about now." He dragged the scratchy material over both legs and then braced his arms on Sam's shoulders to stand and finish pulling them up around his waist. Sam reached for the crutches, and as Dean got himself situated with those, Sam bent to roll and pin the excess material on the left pant leg. He thoroughly hated that process because it seemed to make it so much more clear that there wasn't and would never be the necessary mass of skin and bone to fill it out. Will a prosthetic make this any easier - when we don't have to pin up this excess material? Sam asked himself that question, and other's like it, everyday. Exactly how much emotional hurt and pain will go away by creating a synthetic extension of his leg?
They arrived at the top of the stairs and Sam quickly moved into position, ready to carry the crutches and allow Dean to put his weight on his shoulders for the tenuous trip down the stairs.
"I got it man," Dean said stubbornly, not looking at Sam as he tentatively planted both crutches on the step below, right hand gripping the poles as his left arm braced for dear life on the railing.
Sam could feel a sickening flutter in his chest at the rejection and he swallowed hard before he could issue a protest. Where the hell did that come from? "Dean, I don't know how safe–"
"I said I've got it, Sam." Dean answered more testily, and Sam finally realized this was a challenge. Dean was fishing for a fight, needed an outlet. Needed Sam to be the one to break first. How far will you go before you snap?
Sam backed off, holding in the sigh of frustration that threatened to burst out. He refused to let another fight ensue before they went to this appointment. He wasn't willing to give Dean an excuse to back out. "Whatever you say man. I'm here if you need me."
Concentrating hard, fiercely determined to not let his brief excursion back to independence fail, Dean hopped down one step and paused, taking the time yet again to position his crutches and brace himself. It was a long way down to the bottom if he fell, and would undoubtedly set his recovery back by days, if not weeks. The rational part of Dean knew it was too soon to be venturing off on his own, even if it was just down a simple set of stairs, but the irrational part of him, the dominant part of him, had finally decided that he was being far too reliant on Sam. He had to take back his life, had to take back his independence. He was getting nowhere fast leaning so heavily on his little brother, and the knowledge of what they were doing this afternoon just hammered that point home.
It had long been part of Dean Winchester's MO, that the harder things were for him, the more he pushed to deal with them himself. Since the accident, he'd been too weak to deal with anything by himself, and he'd happily, albeit stubbornly, allowed Sam to take over everything for him. But no more. Today he would be fitted for a new leg; one that Sam promised was going to give him back the independence he so desperately wanted. Dean still held doubts - Sam was too trusting, too wishy-washy, somehow the kid still seemed to believe in happily-ever-afters and lights at the end of the tunnel. But either way, two legs or one, happy new life or shitty old one, Dean owed it to Sam to become independent again. He owed it to his little brother to be Dean again. Unfortunately for both of them, being Dean meant withholding emotions and refusing to accept necessary help.
By some sheer chance of fate Dean managed to make it to the first floor in one piece and no worse for wear, except Sam thought he very well may have skipped several heartbeats in a row when, about halfway down, Dean missed the step and teetered on the edge for several seconds, arms flailing wildly, before he managed to regain his balance. But even after that he refused Sam's assistance, belligerently declaring that he could do it on his own.
They had their breakfast, drank their coffee's, and were out the door without further incident. It occurred to Sam that what had happened on the stairs may have once again diminished Dean's self-confidence, and his silence as they ate was the older hunter's way of taking the time to rebuild the missing components.
Bobby hollered at them from his station, once again on a ladder this time to re-caulk Missouri's windows. "You boys be take care now!" He called. "Good luck!"
Both boys waved, although Sam's was more enthusiastic than Dean's, and made their way to the car parked by the curb. The next words to come out of Sam's mouth shocked him almost as they shocked Dean, who had already stopped at the passenger door as he waited for Sam to unlock the car.
"You think you might like to drive?"
Dean's head swivelled around to face Sam as his jaw dropped in disbelief. He hesitated, suddenly unsure exactly what he wanted to do. He'd spent the better part of every car ride for the last month moping and griping to himself because he couldn't drive his own car, but now that the opportunity was presenting itself he wasn't so sure any more. What if I can't drive as well as I think I can. What if I need my left foot for something and it's not there? How weird is this going to feel?
"Dean?" Sam tried again, attempting to snap his brother from his stupor. "Earth to Dean..."
Tentatively, Dean nodded his head and held his hand out for the keys. "I guess I'd like to give it a try," he replied, far less conviction in his voice than Sam had expected.
Sam nodded, saying nothing more. Whatever was going on with Dean he didn't want to make worse by adding insult to injury and asking if he was certain he was up for it. Dean needed to feel competent again, of that Sam was sure, and he figured Dean would never intentionally hurt his car. If he didn't feel ready, he would say something. He followed his brother to the driver's side and retrieved the crutches when Dean was safely inside, taking longer than usual to secure them in the backseat and come around to the passenger side, an unspoken understanding that Dean might need some time alone with his baby.
"How's she feel?" Sam asked as he finally settled himself into his designated seat and looked over at his brother. Dean had his hands gently circling the worn steering wheel, caressing the smooth plastic with his thumbs, two lovers reconnecting. His eyes flicked over every dash instrument as he turned the key in the ignition, mentally assessing the car for any glitches it may have picked up during his absence. For a second, his eyes fell longingly to the worn spot in the floor carpeting where his left foot had normally rested during their long cross-country drives. But the flicker of remorse was soon shoved to the back of his mind and Dean even managed to force a bit of a smile.
"It's good to be at her wheel again."
With a cautious tap of the gas pedal, Dean pulled away from the curb.
xxxxxxxxxx
Dr. Jennings greeted them in the front lobby and immediately whisked the brother's down the hall and to the gym, eager to get Dean started on his therapy. He'd heard about the suicide attempt, but pretended it had never happened, instead focusing all of his efforts into convincing Dean just how great he would feel once he was up and walking again.
He led them to one of the many work tables on the far wall and had Dean sit and roll the pants leg up. "How are you doing with your exercises?" the man asked as he began unwrapping the gauze from the stump, focusing his eyes on it as he focused his ears on Dean's answer.
"Okay."
"We upgraded from five pounds to fifteen," Sam chimed in, sitting on the table opposite Dean and leaning in to see what the doctor was doing.
"Is that so?" Dr. Jennings asked, looking pointedly up at Dean for confirmation. "So you feel as though you're improving?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Any problems? Complications?"
"No, not really." Unless you count the obvious.
Returning his attention to the stump, Dr. Jennings began poking and prodding the soft flesh, awaiting a reaction from his patient as he studied the healing tendencies of the remaining scar. When Dean didn't react he finally looked up with a grin. "I think we can go ahead and take a measurement of your leg, start discussing what qualities you might like to have in a prosthesis."
Dean forced a smile. "Sounds great," he replied so only Sam noticed the sarcasm in his voice.
xxxxxxxxxx
The process for fitting the prosthesis was nothing like Sam or Dean had expected, and they both focused their curiosity on every word Dr. Jennings said as he walked them through the fitting. He used a handheld scanner, running it all over Dean's residual limb as it memorized every bump and scar and angle of his leg.
Sam snorted as he watched the red lines criss-cross all over his brother's limb. Dean glared at him. "What the hell is so funny?"
"It looks like he's reading your leg with a barcode scanner," Sam chuckled. "Like you're a side of beef."
"It may seem odd," Dr. Jenning's offered. "But it's a whole lot less archaic than the old method. "Before, we would have actually made a plaster mold of your leg and then a prosthetics specialist would have had to form, by hand, a prosthetic that would fit. But now, this scanner takes a digital reading of every nuance in the shape of your leg and then we send it to a computer. Everything is done digitally and the chances of getting a perfect fit on the first try are increased significantly. Plus, the time it takes to create a prosthesis is far shorter."
Sam nodded, eagerly punching Dean in the arm. "You hear that, Dean? You're gonna be up and walking around in no time. This is so great!" The enthusiasm in his words was forced, but Sam hoped it was enough to rile his brother. Just because Dean was the only one who had voiced his displeasure at replacing his missing leg with synthetic material didn't mean Sam wasn't just as scared at the prospect. He just knew it wouldn't be fair to make Dean have to worry about his emotions when Dean just barely had himself put together. So Sam had to fake it; for the both of them.
"Yeah, just peachy," Dean replied, faking his own smile for the benefit of Sam and the doctor. His little brother was so eager for this to happen. How could he deny him that. His eyes fell to the catalogs and pamphlets at Dr. Jennings' feet, knowing that those were soon to come. On the top pamphlet was a picture of a smiling young man, about Dean's age, wearing a pair of shorts that very clearly showed off the two full leg prostheses he wore, with the caption - 'See what the revolutionary C-leg can do for you.' Dean swallowed back a thick lump forming in his throat, realizing that before long that would be him.
With the leg scan finished, Dr. Jennings crossed the room to a computer and transferred the data into it before returning to the brother's, scooping up the stack of media and setting it on the table in front of Dean. "You spoke to me about your needs and previous abilities a little bit before, but now we need to have a final discussion of what you want in this new leg."
"I want it to look like a damn leg," Dean snarled defensively, quickly shuffling through the stack of papers with disgust. "What the hell is with all this futuristic bionic shit?"
Sam pulled in a deep breath, the question not far from his own mind, but afraid of the doctor's reaction. But Dr. Jennings barely flinched. Apparently he was used to these questions, and he held up a finger as he disappeared for a few minutes and then returned, pushing a cart.
"I'll tell you what, Dean. Let's take a look at what we have here, and the pros and cons of each. You give me the time it takes to explain all this to you and then you can post judgement. How's that sound?"
Sarcasm was Dean's best defense mechanism, and he was close to throwing out yet another discerning comment when he caught Sam's eye, his little brother's desperate plea that he chill out and let the doctor have his time making his shut his mouth and reply instead with a quick nod of the head. "Let's see what you've got."
"Alright." The man searched in his cart, pulling out the first of his demonstrations; a very realistic looking leg that he handed over to Dean. "We do make a synthetic leg out of kevlar and silicone that looks about as realistic as is possible at this point. The manufacturer matches the color with your skin color, paints the toenails and the veins on, even implants real hair fibers to give the impression of a hairy leg if you like."
Dr. Jennings paused, studying Dean and Sam's reactions to the first leg he offered before continuing. Both boys seemed to be staring intently at the prosthesis, and it was clear that even Dean might be on the verge of admitting he was impressed at its realism.
"The only thing is, the more realistic we make it look the less ability we can give the limb. From everything you've told me, Dean, it sounds like you're going to be wanting something more sturdy for more activity. You need to decide what's more important to you, Dean; appearance or ability."
Dean sighed, clutching the limb tightly in his grasp as he realized his desires for normal would only be fulfilled halfway. Did he want to fight and defend normally, or would he rather look normal.
"What else you got?" he finally asked, setting the silicone leg to the side with a frustrated moan.
The man reached back into the cart, this time pulling out another prosthesis that appeared to be a complicated black tube like thing with a flat attachment for the foot. "This one here is made of a combination of carbon and plastic for a lightweight design but a very durable product. It's got a lot of spring and give to the material; you do a lot of hard running, jumping, put a ton of weight on the material, it will always bounce back. There's very little chance for breakage. Plus, the ankle is connected to an inteli-chip. It automatically adjusts to any changes in terrain to keep you standing upright."
"Just call me the 5 million dollar man, huh," Dean laughed, still forcing the humor despite the fact that his heart just wasn't in it.
"I think that one sounds like what you want," Sam broke in, taking the limb from the doctor's hands and studying it from every angle, the nerd in him finding the intelligence factor of the limb perplexing.
"So there's no chance he can have both worlds?" Sam pressed, fingering both limbs with hope.
"Well, I didn't exactly say that," Dr. Jennings hedged, grabbing for one of the pamphlets that were scattered in front of Dean. "I wouldn't recommend you doing strenuous, rigorous activity with the silicone limbs. From what you've told me about your previous activity, I'd be surprised if you didn't end up tearing the material. But you do have the option of having two separate legs made; one for cosmetic purposes and one for practical purposes."
Sam smiled, encouraged once again by that prospect. "See, Dean. We can make this work. You can have both."
"That's...great," Dean pushed out, still not convinced that this was even something he wanted, pushing back the niggling feeling that maybe it was. Why don't you just drop me off at a cabin in the woods somewhere out of the way and leave me there. Then we don't have to deal with any of this. "But it's too much money. We can't afford it."
Pursing his lips, Sam looked from Dean to the legs and back to his brother again. Clearly, Dean was martyring himself again. He could never put himself first. But if Sam looked hard. Deep. If he really searched, he could see just a hint of hope and desire in his brother's stubborn features. And that was enough.
"Dean, we'll figure something out. We can make this work. If you want both of them, then you'll have both of them."
Nudging his chin in the direction of the doctor, Dean addressed him firmly. "I think my brother and I need a few minutes to ourselves. Do you mind?"
"Of course not," Dr. Jennings replied, already standing and preparing to remove himself from the situation. "Just call me when you're ready."
"Dean, what's this all about?" Sam demanded when the doctor was out of earshot. "You deserve to have whatever you need to make this right. If you want to legs, you get two legs."
"It's not about what I want," Dean insisted. "I don't want either one of them. I want my leg back. But you and I both know that's never going to happen, and this isn't as simple as just grabbing the thing, putting it on some bogus insurance card, and taking off. Did you even look at the prices of those things? We simply can't afford two. We can't even afford one, Sam. It's alright; I don't need one. I'll figure something out."
Sam's mouth dropped open in complete and utter shock at what Dean was saying. "You can't mean that," he spat angrily. "I won't let you do this to yourself this time, Dean. You don't get to be a martyr this time."
"Sam, please..."
"No, Dean. Not this time. You need this, Dean. And this time you come first. Whatever it takes; I'll work five jobs if I have to, take out a ton of loans, hell I'll rob a bank if that's what it takes, Dean. But you will have a new leg - both of them. And I'm not taking no for an answer."