Alright, now with the plan. I hope it meets with everyone's approval. Once again, you guys are all totally cool with all your sweet reviews. I get all giddy inside everytime I see a new review in my in-box. Thanks so for being so encouraging with this story. Everything you have to say is totally appreciated. Thanks so much - here's the next chapter...
Dean grumbled and groused noisily as he followed Sam and Bobby, the two men in front of him stubbornly refusing to turn around and acknowledge him. They knew Dean would follow blindly, pissed as hell, but faithfully if he had no other choice; but the minute they turned and recognized Dean's reluctance to follow them, they risked losing the battle. So they continued forward, looking straight ahead at the large, round, coliseum looking building that loomed in front of them, leading Dean to his future.
"You really think this is going to work?" Bobby whispered to Sam, keeping his voice down in case Dean was close enough to hear him.
"God, I hope so," Sam answered, chancing a look behind him as he gripped the door handle and opened the wide glass door, holding it open for Bobby and then Dean. He studied his brother as he watched the man hobble his way into the building, noting the blankness in his face, the lack of sparkle in his eyes. The absence of a leg seemed particularly noticeable today in light of Dean's stalwart refusal to put on the new prosthesis again, and Sam's chest had been twisted into a perpetual knot ever since then. God do I hope this works. Because if it doesn't...dammit, it just has to work.
Sam had spent another restless night worrying about his brother, running over every possibility of how this plan could go down. Initially, he'd been so excited to try Dr. Jennings suggestion, and had wasted no time pulling Bobby aside to fill him in on the plan. It wasn't that he needed Bobby to follow through, but Sam's emotional stability was about drained and he'd realized he needed Bobby's support. Dean's emotions were so raw, so completely unchecked, and truth be told, today's little excursion really could go either way. Sam didn't think he could handle it if this didn't work.
"So what the hell is this all about, Sam?" Dean accused, standing in the massive lobby of the university basketball stadium, listening to the echos of balls bouncing in the gym.
"Just thought we needed some fun," Sam fibbed, spouting out the story he'd contrived in the middle of the night, fingers crossed behind his back as he hoped Dean would buy it. "When I was at Stanford Jess and I used to go sit in on the pick-up games. We used to love it; I just thought you might get something out of it, too." Please buy it, Dean. Please. He'd used the Jess card on purpose, counterbalancing the mention of Stanford as well as hoping Dean might give Sam what he wanted because of it.
To Sam's dismay Dean barely seemed to even notice the bogus explanation. All those sleepless hours wasted on formulating a story he didn't even hear. But it didn't mean Dean didn't accept that there was an explanation, and the mere sound of Sam's voice seemed to propel him robot-like towards the basketball court.
"I've never really gotten into sports," Dean glowered instead, making no indication that he'd heard Sam say anything about Jess or Stanford. "Really not my thing."
"It's not about the game, Dean. It's about the mindlessness of it all. It's something to focus on so you're not focusing so intently on your... on everything else." Sam had to catch himself just seconds before mentioning Dean's leg specifically.
Dean scoffed, but continued to move forward towards the door Bobby was holding open for him. Sam's look of desperation as he followed behind made Bobby's heart sink, and he gave the kid a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder as he passed. "This will work," he assured, forcing the confidence to seep through into his words.
Sam pursed his lips as he replied with a grim nod. God, the doctor had better be right about this.
They entered at the top of the first tier of seats and Sam stood back, allowing Dean to lead the way, unsure how comfortable the older man would feel going down the stairs, and surprised when Dean obliged to go first. Dean actually surprised him, attempting four of the long, shallow steps before coming to a stop in front of an empty row and allowing Sam and Bobby to once again go in front. The rows were narrow, making all three men have to turn sideways to get in. Bobby stopped at the third seat in so that Dean could have the end.
"I think they're about to start," Sam enthused, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the top of his knees as he studied the players. On the court in front of them the multitude of basketballs were slowly being thrown to the sidelines as the two teams regrouped to prepare for the start of the game.
Looking around, taking in the sight of the diversified teams and the small turnout of spectators, Dean was immediately suspicious. This wasn't a college basketball game as he'd initially been led to believe; with players ranging in age from late teens to early forties and a stadium seating at least sixty thousand people barely holding a few hundred, he'd be hard pressed to even call it a legitimate game. Both teams wore colored t-shirts, one team powder blue and the other forest green, with the names of local businesses plastered across their chests and large rubberized numbers on their backs. Some sort of adult league, he assumed. So why the hell are we here?
"I thought this was a college game," Dean accused, slouching down in his seat. "You lied to me, Sam."
"No, I didn't. I said we were going to a game at the university stadium. I never said it was a university game."
Potato - potato," Dean replied, pronouncing the word in two ways; the first with a short 'a' and the second with a long 'a.'
"Clearly they're not," Sam rebutted, motioning for Bobby to help him out with this one. "Because we're here at the university stadium and this is hardly the college team."
"'Fraid your brother's got you on that one," Bobby added, shrugging his shoulders in apathetic apology.
Dean shut up; too annoyed to argue, too stubborn to apologize. He crossed his arms in silent defiance across his chest and stared blankly ahead. Sam, too, looked ahead as he searched for the reason they were here; number 24 on the green-shirted team. The game was just getting underway, and Sam searched the bench first before turning to the five members of the team already on the floor, finally locating the man in that smaller crew. He hadn't expected the man to be a starter, although he really shouldn't have been surprised considering the conviction in Dr. Jennings' voice when he assured Sam that this plan would work.
The player was young, mid to late twenties at the most, and clearly athletic -just like Dean. His muscular biceps pulled at the cotton t-shirt, stretching it to within an inch of its capacity. As had been requested by Dr. Jennings, he'd worn a pair of nylon sport pants that covered the top of a pair of white and black basketball shoes, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
With a nudge of the chin, Sam directed Bobby's gaze to the player. Seeing the reason for their trip, Bobby looked back at Sam with an encouraging smile, their eyes and body language holding silent conversation.
You know how you're gonna tell him yet?
Not a clue - got any ideas?
He's your brother, Sam, he'll take it better from you.
The first fifteen minutes were played without a single word being exchanged between the three men. Sam alternated between number 24 and his brother, desperately trying to figure out a way to point the athletic man out to Dean without Dean questioning him. 'That number 24 sure is a good player,' really didn't seem like a reasonable conversation starter unless Sam was prepared for Dean to snark back with 'Why, you got a crush on 'im Sammy?' And just flat out ordering Dean to keep his eyes on the single player risked too many questions dipped in suspicion. But just when Sam was beginning to think he'd never work up the nerve to say something to Dean he saw his perfect opportunity, cheering wildly when number 24 made a mad dash up the court, dodging his guards to make a perfect slam dunk.
"That was totally awesome! Did you see that?" Sam cried out, gently shoving Dean's shoulder to make sure his brother was watching. He was taken completely aback when he saw that Dean was not only watching, but was actually on the edge of his seat, thoroughly seeming to be into the game.
"Yeah, yeah, I saw," Dean replied, forcing a facade of irritation. Sam didn't care; actions far outweighed the vocalizations. Dean was enjoying himself.
Sam sat back, relaxing for the rest of the game. This would be easier than he'd expected. Dean was already coming back to him, and the plan was falling into place perfectly. As long as part two went as smoothly as part one, they were well on their way.
When the game ended, the green team had won by eleven points, 77-66, and number 24 had easily scored at least a third of those points. Looking at Dean, Sam was relieved to see a smile on his brother's face; a real, genuine, light up the room smile. A smile that came from the adrenaline rush feeling of watching 'your' team win the big game. Sam couldn't explain why, or how, Dean had managed to form a bond to a team he'd never seen before in a game he'd never 'gotten into' before, but Sam was a wise man. He knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, and for this, he would chalk it up to magic working at it's best.
"Good game, huh?" Sam pressed.
"Yeah. Real good."
"You were right about the mindless entertainment," Bobby added, patting Sam on the shoulder as they collected their stuff to be leaving. "Great idea. Just what we needed."
Sam looked back to Bobby. 'Thanks,' he mouthed, grateful that the man was adding to the facade. He'd been a little worried that Bobby's silence through the game might have tipped Dean off. Bobby was a tried and true Nascar fan, with a little bit of pro-football mixed in. He'd never really been a fan of basketball, and Sam had feared Dean might remember that.
"It was just nice to get out of the house for a while," Sam continued, following Dean's slow assent up the stairs and out the gym, immediately reverting to protective mode at his concern over Dean's instability. He was just glad Dean couldn't see his over-protection in action.
Once in the lobby, Sam immediately began flicking his eyes all over the lobby, scanning frantically until they finally rested on number 24, slowly making his way through the crowd.
"Hey, Dean, Bobby, there's one of the players. Let's go congratulate him on his win."
Dean shot him a look that clearly said 'chill dude,' before shrugging and continuing to the door, away from Sam's point of desire. "Naw, man, this was fun but I'm ready to go home."
"Aw, come on, Dean. He played a great game. We should acknowledge that."
"Sam, he's not Michael Jordan for god's sake. It was just a community league game. No big deal."
"Dean, please," Sam continued to beg, annoyed at himself for how childish his voice sounded. But Dean was about to ruin the plan, and he wasn't about to let him.
"If it's that important to your brother, just let the kid say hi," Bobby finally insisted, playing along with the plot by rolling his eyes at Dean. "He's got a hero complex - just let it play out."
Finally shrugging, Dean turned and followed Sam and Bobby through the lobby to the player, hanging back embarrassedly as Sam confronted the man.
"Hi," Sam greeted, stopping his prey in his tracks. "We were just watching the game. I just wanted to tell you what a great job you guys did. That slam dunk was awesome..."
Dean didn't know how it happened; his head was spinning far too fast for him to link on to anything. Somewhere in between Sam introducing him and Bobby to Joe Rombardi, number 24, and now, Dean found himself down in the locker room as Joe and Sam continued their conversation while the player changed. And it was at that moment that he realized he'd been set-up.
Watching Sam staring intently, leg bouncing nervously, at the guy as he pulled his shirt off had Dean imagining all sorts of gay jabs to throw at his brother when they made it back to the car. But every one of those thoughts went out the window when Joe pulled down his pants, nothing but boxers covering his waist and the top socket of his full leg prosthetic. All at once everything rushed at Dean in one gigantic wave; Sam's continued enthusiasm over one guy on the floor - he'd never once said a word about any of the other players, the timely entrance of Joe Rombardi into the lobby just as they were taking off, the flash of recognition as his eyes fell to Dean's missing leg without a hint of the fear or repulsion Dean was used to encountering, the odd way that a simple conversation between strangers had led to a personal invitation to come to the locker rooms. Everything fit into place; and Dean was beyond pissed off.
"I can't believe you did this to me, Sam," Dean snarled, grabbing for his crutches to do what he'd become an expert at for the last couple of months; storming out. He didn't wait for an explanation as he scrambled to right himself, noting not for the first time that the angrier he was the less coordination he seemed to have.
"Dean wait," Sam implored, jumping up after his brother and grabbing him on the shoulder to stop his retreat. "Please, just stop...listen."
"Why should I Sam? Why the hell should I listen to anything that comes out of your lying mouth? You set me up!"
"No, Dean, I didn't. Please, just..."
"You set me up," Dean repeated incredulously. "I can't believe this."
"It was the only way I could get you to listen to reason," Sam insisted, not relinquishing his hold on Dean's shoulder despite his brother's infuriated attempts to shake free. "It was the only way I could get you to see how your life can truly be. Please, Dean, just sit down and hear me out."
Once again, Dean tried to free himself from Sam's grasp, jerking violently out of the tight hold. He got two steps before Joe was in front of him, effectively blocking his exit from the locker room.
"I know what you're going through," Rombardi stated matter-of-factly. "But you can't let the anger win."
"You don't know a damn thing," Dean snarled, glaring at the man with sheer hatred. "You're nothing but a pawn in my brother's master plan to fuck with me."
"Dean!" Sam cried in disbelief. How can he say that? How can he even think that?
Joe's hand shot up to silence Sam, his gaze never wavering from Dean. "I've been where you are, Dean; I've felt the pain and the desperation, and the complete and utter devastation. And I learned to overcome it. You will too."
"My life is over," Spat Dean. "Everything I've ever known; everything I am–"
"You think I didn't feel the same thing when I got hurt?" came the rebuttal. "I was a soldier, Dean. Career army, 1st lieutenant in the Army Rangers; over in Iraq when my convoy got hit by a roadside bomb and blew my whole leg clear off."
That stopped Dean in his tracks as he realized the guy was maybe the closest he would encounter to knowing exactly what he was going through. He was a soldier. A hunter. Maybe he didn't hunt the same things Dean did, but he knew what it was like to have people relying on him for their lives. He finally relaxed a bit, standing down from his desired escape, but he still remained standing, shoulders tense. He wasn't quite ready to admit he would listen.
"Let me ask you this, Dean, before anything else. Your brother got you here; you watched the game, met me, came down here. At what point in this whole thing did you realize that one of my legs was a prosthetic?"
Are you serious? You're really asking me this? Dean looked at Rombardi in disbelief, refusing to answer.
"I'm serious, Dean," the man insisted. "Because that's your future. You're in a better position even than me to be as normal as possible; you've still got your knee and your upper leg, so if I can pull it off you sure as hell can. Now tell me, when did you know?"
"Alright, fine," Dean groused. "I didn't know until I saw it. I had no clue."
"And even knowing that, knowing that I just played an entire basketball game in front of your very own eyes, beating out people with two good legs and no shrapnel anywhere in their bodies, you're still going to stand here in front of me and tell me that my life isn't completely normal. You're going to tall me that you can't have a completely normal life."
Dean shook his head. "It's still not the same. It's still something that I have to rely on, something that I have to take off at night and put on in the morning-"
"What about people with glasses, Dean? Or contacts? Are you saying that just because millions of people around the world rely on something to help them see that they aren't normal?"
"That's different!" Dean protested.
"How? How is it different?"
"It just is!" Dean ran his fingers through his short hair in desperation, his face turning flush as he ran protest after protest through his mind, quickly realizing just how much his arguments were deflating. Damn it, Sam. You had to do this. Glaring intently, Dean looked over to where Sam and Bobby stood, silent through the entire confrontation between Dean and Joe Rombardi. There was no reason for either of them to have been in the conversation; it was playing out exactly as Sam had hoped it would.
"Dean, you have to stop thinking this way," Joe insisted, frustration noticeable in his tone. He sighed. "Look, it took me months to come even close to accepting what had happened to me, so I can't fault you for being so resistant. But I'm here to tell you, man, the only way you're gonna get through this is to keep an open mind, try new things, different things, know that everything is going to get better as the days go on. You have to accept the prosthesis as being an extension of you rather than a burden. You're only as different as you think you are, man."
"Yeah - me and just about every other person on the street who chooses to stare at me and talk about me behind my back," Dean remarked glumly. "You've been me; you are me. How can you sit here and tell me that people don't treat you different because of your leg?"
Rombardi shrugged nonchalantly. "I just figure those people aren't worth my time. It's no different than anything else in life, Dean. It's like people who decide they don't like you because you're from the south, or because you're going bald, or your teeth stick out funny. Everyone has prejudices, man. And those are the people who you avoid. The thing is, they're more likely to ignore your differences when you ignore your own differences. It's all about confidence, man, it's about heart."
Dean stayed quiet, his mind working overtime. He'd never been a man to admit he was wrong, never been good at apologizing. And how the hell do you go from stubborn and pig-headed to open-minded and compliant over night?
"This isn't going to happen over night, Dean..."
Damn, the guy reads minds now, too?
"Look, all I'm asking...all your brother and your friends and the doctors are asking...is that you agree to give it a go. Promise to give it your best try - promise to believe in yourself."
Oh, is that all? And would you like me to drive my car off a cliff while I'm at it?
"Dean, are you going to answer the guy?" Sam's voice finally broke the silence in the air, bringing Dean's head up quickly as he looked from face to face.
"I'm not promising much," Dean finally answered, drawing Sam's mouth into a slight twitch of a smile, his slumped shoulders finally straightening.
"But..." his little brother prompted.
"Alright, one week, Sam. One Week. But if I don't see any improvements by then I'm through - you can take me out into the woods somewhere and hide me there. You got it?"
For a minute Sam seemed torn; a week wasn't a very long time, and his definition of improvement was far off from Dean's. But it was something. And he figured that if he could get a week out of Dean today, by next Saturday he might even get him to agree to a month. This was definitely a start. "Yeah, Dean. I've got it. We can work with that.
"And we can go now? Or do you have another surprise to spring on me?"
"No, we can go. We're done here."
With an abrupt nod, Dean started for the door once again. This time no one tried to stop him and that gave him the freedom he needed. "Hey Joe," he called as he reached the doorway and turned around.
The athlete turned, giving Dean his undivided attention. "Yeah?"
"Just, um...thanks."
Joe's face broke into a wide smile. "Hey no problem, man. Had someone do the same for me. You just take care of yourself - get back on those feet."
Dean nodded and returned to his retreat from the locker room, but was stopped when this time Joe called out his name. He turned.
"Maybe we'll see you on the basketball court one of these days, yeah?"
"Ha! Yeah, right," Dean scoffed. And he finally made his exit, chuckling to himself as Sam and Bobby followed him back to the car. Sure thing dude. Me on a basketball court - yeah right. And the demon's really Mother Theresa.