Yet again, I just have to say how grateful you all are for the wonderful reviews and your awesome opinions. I can't tell you how much it makes my day to read all your kind words. Thanks so much. As I've told a few of you, the story is beginning to wind down but it's not over yet. We've still got several more chapters to go. Thanks for sticking with me. And on with the story...

With Dean now willing and able to put one hundred and ten percent into his therapy efforts, the next few weeks passed by in a blur of activity and determination. The money they had inherited from their grandfather paid for both prosthetic legs, but Dr. Jennings still suggested he focus his efforts on learning to use one well before he did too much alternating between the two. He had mastered stairs on his first lesson and was navigating uneven terrain like a pro by the end of the week. Dean still had to take it easy, still needed to put plenty of time between uses of the prosthetic in order to prevent swelling, but he was up to six hours of use to two hours of non-use, and that was good enough for him - for now.

Downgrading from the crutches to just a cane for support in this most recent trip to the rehab hospital had prompted a celebration request from Dean, and Sam had willingly obliged. He called Bobby and Missouri from the car, telling them that they would all be going out that night in honor of Dean's accomplishments. They arrived at Missouri's house to find the robust woman just finishing putting away what was left of the dinner she had begun to prepare before the phone call, but she dropped everything when she heard the boys come in.

"Dean, honey, what's this big accomplishment your brother alluded to on the phone!" she called out as she rushed from the kitchen to the front entry hall. She stopped in her tracks, a wide smile beaming across her face as she first saw Dean, leaning just on the smooth, curved handle of a wooden cane, walk through the door. His limp was still pronounced, although it was slowly going away as he became more familiar with the new leg, but he entered the house with his head held high and an equally large grin on his own face.

"What do you think Missouri? Bobby? He acknowledged as the older man stepped into the room as well. "Almost good as new, huh?"

The limp he could deal with, and even the cane. As Sam kept repeating over and over again, it wasn't clear to anybody exactly why he limped unless they were to see the prosthesis. And the world was far less sympathetic of some guy with an unsourced limp than they were of someone who was clearly missing a leg. So with the prosthetic, just as Sam had hoped, Dean was far more secure and confident with himself when he appeared to be a whole man.

"It's looking real good, kid," Bobby agreed. "And Sam here tells us we're going out to celebrate, too. What've you got in mind?"

Dean shrugged. "Nothing big. I just thought maybe get some dinner and try out some of the local nightlife. It's been so long since I've seen a pool table and I'm getting a little itchy with the absence."

Sam and Bobby shared a look, both somewhat anxious about the prospect, but eager that Dean was ready to give it a try.

"I saw that," Dean growled. "Don't think I don't know what you're thinking."

Sam initially tried for innocence, but ultimately ended up just admitting it. "Don't get us wrong," Sam hedged. "I'm totally ecstatic that you're suggesting this. And I know that everything will be fine. I just worry that you may be jumping in too fast too soon."

Don't worry about it, Sam. If anything goes wrong I have no one to blame but myself. And besides, it's not like I'm planning on picking up a handful of chicks. I just want to go and have fun."

"Well, if it's fun you want then fun you shall have," Sam assured his brother, relieved to discover there didn't seem to be even a hint of uncertainty coming out in his brother's voice. "We should go get changed and then we can head out.

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Sam was a bit surprised when Dean emerged from the bathroom in his dress clothes, which still didn't amount to much, but he was surprised none the less. Dean had on the cleanest, least worn out, pair of jeans he owned, and a black t-shirt underneath a striped dress shirt - untucked and half buttoned, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows for good measure. Instead of his usual black, steel-toed hunting boots, he had on the cleaner brown ones, and for the first time in a while Dean actually ran some gel through his hair.

"You look nice," Sam said, blinking back the surprise and reminding himself that this was a good thing to have Dean finally take an interest in his appearance once again.

"I look like I always do when I go out," Dean replied cockily, leaning on his cane as he worked his way to the bed to sit as he waited for Sam to finish dressing. "You should try it sometime."

Looking down at his own wardrobe, which very closely resembled Dean's only with a blue t-shirt instead of a black one, and a solid colored dress shirt instead of striped, Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean but said nothing. Dean would get the point.

"So are you ready or what?" Dean asked impatiently, watching Sam to figure out just what was taking him so long to complete. He appeared dressed, yet he was running all over the room as though he was missing a key piece to his ensemble.

"I will be, just as soon as I find my wallet," Sam grumbled, looking under the bed for the second time since Dean had emerged.

"You mean the one that's sitting on the counter by the bathroom sink?"

Sam sighed, finally remembering leaving it there, and sprinted off to retrieve the wallet. He returned seconds later, holding it up triumphantly. "Got it. Now we can go."

Missouri and Bobby were waiting for them as they descended the stairs, Missouri in a floral dress and Bobby in standard Bobby attire, jeans, flannel shirt and ball cap. The group decided to take two cars. If things went as everyone hoped, Sam and Dean wouldn't be home until late, and the older two figured they would be turning in long before. Driving his car, Dean led the way to the steakhouse he had selected for his celebration, the sounds of AC/DC belting out through the open windows as he wound his way through town. This was the life.

If Sam hadn't been watching carefully, he doubted he would have even noticed the slight hesitation as Dean made his final preparations to enter the restaurant, and he was smart enough not to acknowledge it. Although Dean had never discussed it with him, Sam knew Dean had a mental checklist running through his mind of things he needed to accomplish before he truly felt healed, and tonight, he hoped, Dean was going to mark several of those items off his list. The first, Sam figured, was to walk into a public place with his head held high and the confidence of the old Dean Winchester. The steakhouse was the trial run; the bar would be the true test.

Dean walked slowly, purposefully, and his limp was far less noticeable when he concentrated on that. He gripped the smooth handle of his cane, unconsciously running his thumb over top as he held the door open for the other three members of his party before following them into the room. This was the way he liked it. He'd never preferred to enter first, broadcasting his beauty like he was on a jumbotron for all the world to see. No, he preferred subtlety; the lone stranger casually seeking out a suitable partner for the evening. If he held back he had the advantage, the ability to study the options before selecting his mark. Dean had no intention of getting too close to anyone tonight; he still wasn't that far along. But if he could at least get the notice of a few girls that would be enough for a nights work. And his first prey, of course, would be their waitress.

She was young, naive, probably just out of highschool; and those were the easiest kinds to get. But he had to start small; build his way up to the big leagues. Unconsciously, he knew that rejection was not an option right now. Not at this stage of the game.

Chrissy. He let her name roll off his tongue casually as he placed his order for a beer, and held her gaze for just a second longer than necessary, just to prove he could do it, and then watched her turn from their table with a jerk of her neck so that her long blond hair swung tauntingly across her back.

Turning back to their table, he saw Sam, Bobby, and Missouri all watching him with knowing smiles on their faces, and they all quickly retreated to their menus when they realized he had noticed their eavesdropping.

"What?" Dean asked innocently, but he was unable to stop the grin that fell across his face and he quickly accepted his loss of the 'I don't know what you're talking about' game. "Ok, so she's cute," he defended himself. "What do you expect?"

By the end of the meal Sam knew Dean had succeeded at his first challenge when Bobby shoved the bill across the table to Dean with a roll of his eyes and yet another knowing grin. "I think this is your's," he said with a wink.

Dean began to protest. It was his celebration after all; he shouldn't have to pay the bill. But Bobby insisted and Dean finally grabbed the slip of paper in a huff, his eyes doing a quick about face as he read their tab. It's on the house, sugar. Chrissy. 555-2121. He grinned, flashing his pearly whites at the young waitress who stood watching him very indiscreetly from across the room. Slipping the paper into his breast pocket, Dean patted it twice and nodded his thanks to the girl, reveling in the fact that he still had it. She would never know just how much she'd done for him that night. Yet that was the last she would see of Dean Winchester. He wouldn't be calling her. She was just a tad too young for him.

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Bobby and Missouri left the boys at the steakhouse, declaring themselves too old to do the bar scene, but encouraging them to go out and have a good time. Normally, Sam would have been all too eager to join the older two back at home, leaving Dean to be Dean by himself. But tonight he was too eager to see his brother back in action to miss out on the chance. So he tagged along without so much as a grumble as he ordered a beer and joined Dean in a booth off to the side.

He could see the gears turning in Dean's head. Pool or women, pool or women. It was a tough call to make, but Sam wasn't too surprised when Dean finally chose a game of pool for his first foray into the bar scene. There was less to explain, less of himself to reveal. Fewer nosy questions.

Beer in hand, Dean casually made his way over to the tables with Sam close on his heels. From the three still available, he chose the one with the least tilt and popped in his quarters, hooking his cane to the rim of the table where he hoped he wouldn't need it for a while. The balls released with a noisy clacking sound and he quickly collected them, racking them with expert precision before selecting a pool cue. Sam already had one in his hand and Dean nodded for him to break.

It's like they never stopped, the actions were so ingrained in their minds, and Sam quickly outplayed Dean in the first game. Dean asked for a rematch, "Best two out of three," he requested, and Sam obliged with a determined nod of his head. Sam bested Dean in the second game as well, and Dean grudgingly handed over a wad of money to his brother as he continued to ask for another chance.

It was all perfectly played out as Sam stalked off to the bar, ordering another beer for himself and one for Dean and returned a minute later. "Least I can do is buy you a beer," he growled to his beaten 'opponent,' and the game began.

From two tables over a group of biker guys overheard the conversation, heard Dean's desire to continue playing, and saw an easy opportunity to make some money. "I'll give you a game," one of them announced gruffly, breaking from his group to saunter over to Dean. "Even donate the quarters for it."

"I don't know," Dean hedged. "It's not really my night. 'Fraid I won't be much competition."

The guy shrugged. "It's all just for fun anyway. I'll go easy on ya. Name's Duane, by the way. But you can just call me Dozer. All ma' friends do."

Dean nodded his greeting from across the table. "Dean. You can call me Dean." Great, I've chosen a guy who's named after a piece of destruction machinery for my return to hustling. This should be good.

"I'll go easy on you, Dean. First round there's no stakes involved."

Stiffening his shoulders, Dean shook his head. "Don't do me any favors. If you're playin for money, so am I. I'll put twenty on the game." He slapped down a Jackson on the side of the table and stared the man down."

Dozer shrugged and slapped down his own twenty. "Suit yourself, kid."

From off in the corner, Sam smiled as he swallowed another mouthful of beer. He relaxed some, but still kept his eyes focused on the game. It was good to see his brother back in his element, but if Dean got too confident too quickly this could turn sour real fast. These guys looked like they meant business and he'd never known his brother to back down from a fight.

Dean lost the first game and excused himself to buy another beer. He returned and quickly lost the second game as well. By the time the third game rolled around they had drawn a crowd, mostly of Dozer's friends, as they watched the newbie get his butt kicked by the local. Game three, Dean managed to squeak by with a win, but Dozer called it a lucky break and insisted on yet another game. Dean was only too happy to oblige.

The stakes had risen steadily, doubling each time, and by the fourth game they were up to one hundred and sixty a piece. Inwardly, Dean smiled, wondering just how much he could get the game up to without risking getting his butt kicked. He felt in his pocket for the wad of cash he'd brought with him, compliments of Grandpa Angelli, and knew this time he had plenty of cash to tempt fate with. He could easily get cocky, put too much at stake, but right now he was too deep into bliss to really think about that.

From the corner of his eye he noticed a gorgeous little strawberry blond watching him intently. Time for the next test. He turned on the Winchester charm, flashing a winning smile her way before returning his attention to the game. He would let her come to him.

And come she did. She was right behind him after he sunk two balls into their respective pockets and then missed the third shot on purpose. He felt her breath on his neck before he heard her speak. "Doesn't really look like your game, doll. I could give you a much better time out on the dance floor."

Dean turned, grinning at his new admirer as he watched Dozer line up a shot from the corner of his eye. He was ecstatic. She'd asked him to dance. That meant she thought he could dance, and that she hadn't been paying too much attention to his leg. But even before, Dean Winchester didn't do dancing, and there was no way anyone would get him out on the dance floor now. "Aww, sweetheart, I'm not the dancin' type," he crooned, angling toward her so their shoulders touched and his opposite hand was on her elbow. "But I can think of a few other things you and me could get into. Tell ya what," he pulled out a ten and a five and pushed it into her hand. "You go get me a beer and yourself whatever you want, and when I finish playing this guy you and I can go get to know each other."

She beamed, accepting the money as she brushed her lips across his cheeks, before sauntering to the bar with a swagger that would put Jessica Rabbit to shame. He watched her go, realizing that he had no idea what her name was. But that was just fine with him; anonymity was his middle name. His only regret was that he still didn't feel comfortable enough to actually go the distance with her. She was almost worth spilling everything just for a little action. But not quite.

Returning his focus to the game, Dean saw that Dozer had sunk three more solids into the pocket and was lining up a fourth. He missed, and Dean limped forward to determine his next shot. Hitting that one, and then missing the next, Dean decided the next game would be the last. He'd proven that he could swindle pool still, and it was time to get his focus back on the ladies.

"Alright man, after this next game I'm out," he announced to Dozer as he put on a facade of disappointment on his face. "This losing's getting to be too much for me."

"Aww, the kid's gettin' bummed out," Dozer mocked, eliciting a round of laughter from his buddies. "I'll tell you what kid, this next game let's go double or nothin. Maybe that will help you out just a little."

Dean took the teasing in stride, looking over to the strawberry blonde with a wink. "I can live with that," he accepted the bet as he crossed the couple of feet to where the girl sat watching the game with her Margarita clenched in her long, thin fingers, and whispered in her ear. "Just give me a few more minutes and I'll be all yours."

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, the girl giggled seductively. "I'll be just over here."

He winked and returned to the game, breaking the rack of balls with a sharp crack. One ball went in and he turned to his opponent with a cautious smile. "I guess I'm stripes," he announced as he leaned over the table and went after another ball, sinking it too. He eyed the table for another shot, and lined up a particularly difficult one, missing it on purpose. Years of hustling had taught him the art was to look like your win was an accident. Mastering the difficult shots after missing so many easy ones got suspicious.

Dozer stepped forward, eyeing up the table for his next shot and ended up sinking two in one go. He smirked at Dean and rounded the table for another shot, sinking that one, too. He took out six balls before missing a shot, and Dean held his breath through the whole thing, worried that he may have been too rash to just sink the two balls. He had a lot of catching up to do - if he ever got a chance to do so.

But Dozer finally missed, and Dean took advantage of the chance, clearing the rest of the table until all that was left was the eight ball. Without even looking up he could tell Dozer had stiffened and he felt the group of friends step in closer as Dean hesitated over whether or not he should miss the eight ball and risk not having another chance, or whether it was better to risk the wrath of Dozer. He glanced around the room and saw Sam now standing on edge just to the outside of the circle, his hand hidden underneath his shirt and behind his back. He knew Sam's hand was tightly clenched to the gun at his back, ready for trouble. Just off to the side, Dean saw the strawberry blonde staring at him intently, her eyes never wavering. That clinched it. He couldn't risk losing now.

Dean bent over the table, lined up his shot, and sank the eight ball without a second thought. Trying to hold in his smugness, he circled the table, snatched up the cash and grabbed his cane as he pocketed his winnings. "Thanks for the game. It was fun."

Dozer's face turned red with anger as Dean sauntered off to his date, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he led her to a booth at the back of the bar. What Dean didn't see was his beaten opponent head off towards the bar to knock down a few shots before returning for his lost cash. But Sam did.

"What did you do to your leg?" Strawberry blonde asked casually as they climbed into the booth side by side.

Breaking eye contact, Dean looked down to his leg, staring daggers at it as he cursed the thing for being so noticeable. He'd rehearsed the lie so many times it should have been second nature to him. But this was the first time he had to be convincing. A deep breath prepared him as much as he could be and he looked back up to the girl with a small half smile. "Just an accident on the job. Nothing exciting." He held his breath, waiting to see if she would by it or if she would press the issue further. But the girl wasn't interested in getting to know him, she was just interested in the sex, and she dropped the topic like a hot potato.

"So I've never seen you around here before. You knew to the area?" she asked, running a finger tenderly up and down his chest.

"Just staying with a friend for a few weeks. I'll be heading out of town soon." And that was just perfect for this woman, because she wasn't interested in strings and ties anymore than Dean was. As he leaned in for a kiss, he asked himself if he might actually be willing to go all the way with this girl. She seemed so ready for it, and - god - it had been so long for him.

But as this was all going on, Sam had noticed the group of five men winding their way through the bar to his brother, ready for trouble. Knowing Dean would be totally pissed if Sam stepped in for him, Sam hung back, but remained close enough that he was ready to step in at a seconds notice.

Dozer tapped Dean on the shoulder, interrupting the lip lock he was currently engaged in. "I think I'd like my money back," he growled, arms crossed against his chest. Behind him, his four friends mimicked his posture to a tee.

Dean waved him away impatiently, never fully breaking from his embrace from the strawberry blonde. "I won it fair and square, man. Just take your losses like a man."

Undeterred, Dozer grabbed Dean by the lapels of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. "We don't take kindly to hustler's like you round these parts."

Sam stepped forward, ready to break in and pull Dozer off his brother. But Dean saw him and held up a hand to stop, indicating that he had things covered. Sam wasn't so sure, but he hung back as he watched Dean reach behind him for his cane and bring it down hard across the back of the larger man's knee's, knocking him off balance and dropping him to the ground.

"And I don't take kindly to big thugs like you interrupting my social hour," Dean retorted as he stepped back from his attacker while the man scrambled back to his feet.

Growling in determination, Dozer rounded his shoulders and aimed head first toward Dean's stomach, taking them both down to the ground. Dean knocked his head hard against the floor and struggled to keep his vision under control as he lashed out, his fist smacking hard against the man's temple.

Sam took this new attack into account and sprang forward, taking down the first of Dozer's back up thugs with a well timed uppercut to the jaw. The man never saw it coming, and he dropped quickly. But he lost the element of surprise with the next three, and found himself lost in a whirlwind of punches and kicks. There was no doubt these men were larger, and probably stronger, but Sam was more experienced and he finally managed to drop the remaining three with only a few (hundred) cuts and bruises to show for it.

Slightly dazed, Sam pulled himself to his feet to see how Dean was faring. He'd managed to take the leader down, and was finally climbing to his own feet as Dozer lay seemingly unconscious on the floor. He looked to Sam with a cocky grin, "See, little brother, nothing to it," before turning back to the strawberry blond.

She still remained in the same spot in the booth, awestruck and starstruck at what had just unfolded before her. She had a new hero, and Dean decided right then that he was definitely going back to her place for the evening. Sam could take the car home. But before he could go further, a hand jerked out from Dozer's prone form and grabbed onto Dean's left ankle, the prosthetic ankle. The guys' eyes widened in surprise when he realized he wasn't holding a normal ankle, but that didn't stop him from pulling hard, knocking Dean from his feet and onto the floor with a harsh thump. Dean laid there for a minute, allowing the air to return to his lungs, before he allowed himself to take stock of the situation. He could see Dozer's shocked face and the confusion and pity playing across that of the strawberry blonde, and he knew before he even looked that his secret had been outed.

Slowly, cautiously, Dean looked down to his leg. Between the top of his shoe and the hem of his pants was a four inch gap where the thin carbon rod of his prosthesis could easily be seen. Dozer had released the leg immediately when he realized what he'd done, his hand flying off the carbon so fast you would have thought it was on fire, as though it was fine to knock just a guy off his feet, but an amputee was another story.

"Dude, I'm so sorry, man. I didn't know." Dozer stammered, crab walking backwards a few feet before he finally settled against a table leg.

Dean felt himself turn a deep shade of red as he grabbed the cane and scrambled to his feet. Glancing back up to the strawberry blond, he knew the night was over between them as he recognized the apprehensiveness in her expression. Without even trying, he knew she would come up with come cock and bull excuse about how she had to be up early and therefore couldn't enjoy the rest of the evening with him. He didn't dare even try. And if that wasn't bad enough, he had an entire audience of onlookers to contend with. He could feel the curious, pitying eyes of the bar's patrons on him as he took the defensive stance, unsure whether to stare them all down or turn tail and run.

"What the hell are you all looking at?" he growled threateningly, choosing to look through the crowd instead of at it. He found Sam easily and wove his way over to him, limping more than usual. The leg was still on and intact, but he could tell it had been turned just enough that it was pressing against bone and it was painful to walk on. But he didn't dare stop to adjust it as he made a beeline to the exit. "Let's go, Sam," he ordered, unable to hide the desperation in his voice but hoping he had kept it hidden enough to not tip off the bar's patrons. "I've had enough of these losers for one night," he added, although the tone of voice did little to match the intended announcement.

Sam's heart sank and his stomach tied in knots as he watched his brother's dejected form cross the parking lot to his car. Shoulder's slumped in defeat, he let himself into the passenger side and waited huffily for Sam to get in the driver's seat. That seemed to be the clue lately, the determination of how Dean was feeling. Because when he was in a good mood he drove, but when he was feeling sorry for himself he rode shotgun. The only motion Dean made was to adjust the leg so it didn't put so much pressure on the bone, but after that he was still. Sam started the engine, taking one last lingering glance at his brother before pulling out onto the main road. He was at a loss for words, yet he wasn't sure if there was anything that would comfort him anyway. This, Dean would have to work out for himself.