So, I feel like everytime I post I have some sort of excuse lately. And this time is no different. Normally, I write at least a page and a half on my lunch break and another page or two at home each day. But I didn't get a chance to write all week at work, and it doesn't help that this is a longer than norm chapter. So once again we have me submitting a chapter later than usual. In addition, I decided it was better to get this up for you all than to reply to all your wonderful reviews. My apologies. Let me just say, you guys are all too sweet to leave such wonderful and kind reviews. They're what makes me feel so guilty for not posting in the timely fashion you all expect from me (and that's not a bad thing - trust me.) Hopefully this chapter will redeem me. I'll try to do better in the future! Thanks again, and enjoy...
Sam didn't know what to say. Or how he should be reacting. Or even what he should be feeling. He'd seen the faces and the expressions, same as Dean; the problem was he just didn't see the situation as being nearly as bad as Dean did. Maybe it was just because he was still just an outsider, observing Dean's pain from a distance. Maybe he just wasn't nearly as perceptive as he thought he was. Or maybe, there really wasn't as much to be upset about as Dean seemed to think there was.
Sure, there had been the expected shock and surprise reverberating through the crowd. But that was to be expected, right. What red-blooded, half-toasted, American crowd wouldn't be curious of a man sprawled on the ground with a false leg. It was human. But what it really all boiled down to in the end, was that Dean had kicked Dozer's ass at pool and in a physical fight, and he had three hundred and sixty dollars in his pocket to show for it.
So maybe Dean hadn't landed the girl this time. In all honesty, Sam wasn't certain the Strawberry blonde wouldn't have happily invited Dean home that night. Yeah, she had been just as surprised as the rest of the crowd, but what the hell was Dean expecting? Did he honestly think she would have said 'prosthesis? What prosthesis? Looks like a real leg to me.' Because, unless she was twelve brain cells short of a dozen there was no way she hadn't noticed. That didn't mean it necessarily would have bothered her.
The way she had looked at him before; that undying attraction to his heroism and cunning, Sam really didn't think it would have been a problem. If anything, the fact that Dean had managed to take down the overly muscled man with only one real leg should have immensely impressed the girl. She should have been swooning all over Dean. If he had just decided to stay put...
Sam was decidedly pissed off at himself at having given in so easily to Dean's demand. He should have made him stay; should have reminded him that Winchester men didn't run away from their fears. But how was he supposed to tell Dean that he thought he was blowing this out of proportion. How did he tell a man whose very sanity is teetering dangerously on a tightrope no greater in diameter than that of a spiders web that he really should stand back and reevaluate the situation before he throws in the towel.
For a minute, Sam actually considered turning the car around right there and then, and make Dean return to the bar to face his fears. It's what their father would have done, and Dean always responded quickly to their father's militaristic way of ordering them around. But then again, John Winchester probably wouldn't have let things go so far in the first place. And that didn't even count the fact that Sam couldn't be sure if John's method of doing things was really what was best for Dean right now.
Healing, John Winchester style, wasn't really healing at all if you actually thought about it. It was silence and repression and avoidance and a whole slew of other actions that only led to a multitude of other problems without really fixing the issue.
Without their father around to give orders and to intimidate, Sam believed Dean had flourished. Of course, he still had a long way to go before anyone dared consider him emotionally healthy, but that didn't mean he wasn't on his way.
Certain the healing would come in time, Sam realized Dean would do much better if he wasn't pushed. For now, just being there through the emotional roller-coaster that had become Dean's life would have to be enough.
Sam dared to glance over at his brother and frowned as he watched Dean staring sullenly down at his leg. Without asking, Sam knew he was cursing what was left of his leg, and everything that went along with the missing piece. There was no easy fix; no magical cure. It was what it was, and Sam would just have to accept the fact that there was nothing he could say that would guarantee healing. But he sure as hell could try.
"I bet it felt good to be hustling pool again, huh?'
Dean shrugged forlornly and offered a grunt in reply.
But Sam was not deterred easily. "Probably felt like you never stopped."
"Something like that," Dean muttered.
Okay, so that was a little better. "I think you and I make a pretty good pre-team. Course, playing it up for the townies is probably the only time I'll ever manage to beat you at pool, but..."
"Yeah, guess so," Dean agreed, his words trailing off in apathy.
Come on, Dean, come on. Give me something. Throw me a bone here! "So, um...that waitress back at the steakhouse was pretty cute. She really seemed into you."
"She was young. And clearly blind," Dean shot back.
Damn it, Sam. It didn't work the last time you tried to bring up a girl. What made you think it would work this time? Sam sighed, frustrated. "Dean, you used to be so in love with yourself it was obnoxious, and now I would give anything for you to feel that way again. You are still an attractive man. You're still desirable. Hell, if I was a woman I'd do you!"
"That's just gay, Sam. Not to mention incestual."
Sam burst out laughing at that, but stopped abruptly when he realized there had been no humor in Dean's voice. How the hell did he do that? How does he crack a joke and not even realize it? "That's not the point, Dean," he tried instead, getting more desperate by the minute. "The point is that you shouldn't–"
"Yeah, I got the point Sam. But I'm not in the mood."
"Well you damn well better get in the mood, because I'm gonna talk and you're gonna listen whether you like it or not."
"I don't think I got the memo where our relationship became a dictatorship, Sam. I don't gotta do anything."
"Dean, please..."
Dean rolled his eyes, huffing audibly as he ran his hands through his short hair. "Sam, I'm not in the mood. You saw what happened. You know..."
"Yeah, I do," Sam agreed, seeing his opening and grabbing it. "I saw a group of normal people reacting like a group of normal people. I saw them watch you kick some guy's ass who was twice your size. I saw them react in surprise when they saw your leg. And then I saw the admiration in their expressions when they realized you had more than just the size difference as an obstacle. Seems to me you overreacted just a bit."
"I don't think you saw the same thing I saw, if that's what you think happened."
Sam gripped tighter to the wheel, wondering just how hard he was going to have to push to get Dean to realize the truth. His brother had the recalcitrance of an old mule sometimes, and it took finding that hidden switch to get him to change his opinion on things. It broke his heart that Dean had become so intent of belonging. Of all the times for his loner brother to need to feel accepted, and this was it. Yet Sam knew things would be no better if he, himself, was in Dean's position. The only way he could get through to his brother was to put himself in Dean's place. And that was about as easy as climbing a rope to the moon.
"Yeah? So what exactly do you think you saw tonight at the bar? Tell me what I missed exactly." He cringed, knowing he was opening up a can of worms that very likely would come back to bite him in the ass. But the only way Sam even stood a chance at changing Dean's mind was to find out precisely what was going through his mind.
"Disgust." One word. One strongly stated, emotionally backed word. Dean spat it out as though just saying it left a bitter taste on his tongue, and then returned to staring blankly out the window, his shoulders hunched, arms crossing against his stomach.
Sam winced. He'd feared hearing words like pity, fear, confusion. And now he would gladly take those over what Dean had chosen instead. "Pity, fear, and confusion were normal human reactions. He could explain them away with a few well placed appeals and assurances. He could remind Dean that he'd gotten upset at Sam reacting the very same way to the people in the diner a few weeks back, and that Dean should take his own advice; calm down, let it ride. Whether or not that would work, he didn't know, but at least he had a plan for those.
But disgust. Disgust was not easily explained away no matter how wrong Dean was at having seen it. Disgust was such a strong word. It was ugly and lacked hope, and Dean was so convinced that that's what people saw when he looked at himself. For that, was the reality of Dean's difficulties thus far. It wasn't what other's saw in him, it was what he saw in himself. And until Sam succeeded in changing that, Dean didn't stand a chance. The only thing Sam had going for himself was the fact that there really was no where to go but up. Dean had fallen so far, he really couldn't go any further. Realizing this, Sam knew the worst thing he could do was not try.
"You're wrong, Dean," Sam announced firmly, lingering at a stop sign a few seconds longer so he could actually look at this brother, stare him down. Dean didn't look up, didn't react, but Sam knew he had heard. "You couldn't be more wrong if you tried."
"That's your argument?" Dean asked glumly. "You're wrong, Dean!?"
"Oh, I've just gotten started," Sam hissed, trying to keep the rage out of his voice. It was getting harder and harder to remind himself that simple, rational arguments weren't going to work in this case. Dean wasn't thinking rationally today. Or yesterday. And most likely not tomorrow, either. He hated that he was so tired of dragging out these pep talks. Hated that every time it seemed as though they had made progress and that Dean was finally moving forward, something had to happen that would set him back. Hated that he felt the need to tiptoe around the man, cautiously evaluation everything he said or did or proposed in case that might be the tipping point to Dean's anger. He just wanted his brother back. Yet every time he thought Dean was back, something ripped him away again.
"Yeah? Well go ahead, give it your best shot." As Sam's desperation and anger intensified, so did Dean's irritation, and it was with a scowl on his face that he growled out the challenge.
In his aggravation, Sam let out a half growl, half screamed yell in reaction to Dean's noticeable lack of willingness to even try and accept help, and he swerved the car toughly to the side of the road, pulling off in the parkinglot of a small strip mall and parking the car. "I can't do this anymore!" he finally yelled, pounding the steering wheel maniacally with his open palms. From the corner of his eye he saw Dean shrink back against the side of the car, watching Sam cautiously. If he could, Sam would have smiled at his immediate success, but that would giv e him away, and defeat the purpose of this newest contrived attempt.
Pleading had done no good, and neither had appealing to Dean's rational side. And obviously assuring Dean that no one would ever know had been one giant flop. Which left only one other option in Sam's mind. Throughout the whole ordeal, Sam had been nothing but patient and understanding. When Dean yelled at him and insulted him and blamed him and did everything under the sun to be helpful, Sam still turned the other cheek and asked for more, please. For weeks, he'd pretended that nothing Dean said had hurt, that the words hadn't burrowed deep under his skin and remained there, fermenting and stewing until he wasn't sure he even liked his brother anymore. Yet he'd done so out of love, and for that, he pressed himself to remember that anything Dean threw at him had to be one hundred times worse sitting inside his brother. But maybe now was the time to put a stop to all this. Maybe now was the time to remind Dean that he had a responsibility not only to himself, but to Sam as well. It was time to remind Dean that his brother had feeling's too and it was about time he start considering them.
And so, as he looked over to Dean and saw his brother moping and cowering like some shell of his former self, Sam knew that was what it would take to bring Dean back. His methods would come out seeming more like their father's in a lot of ways, but with love and concern leading the effort instead of orders and demands, Sam hoped that would be enough.
In Sam's long silence Dean was finally growing curious, and though he still hung back, surprised at Sam's outburst, he now had his head cocked and ready for an explanation. And when Sam still didn't offer something he finally decided to make an attempt at getting it himself. "You can't do what anymore?" he asked meekly.
"This!" Sam yelled. "This constant teeter-totter ride we've been on. One minute you're flying high as a kite, all stoked about getting rid of those crutches and replacing them with a cane, and the next minute you're freaking out because a bar full of drunken strangers who you'll never see again happened to find out that you've got a prosthesis."
"Sam, I-"
"I get that this sucks, Dean, I really do. But I can't deal with the constant ups and downs. And I can't deal with watching you sit there and convince yourself of the worst when there's no need. Those people in the bar were not looking at you with disgust. Not a single one of them. Yeah, I saw a few with pity and ignorance, but that's pretty much to be expected." He stopped himself as he realized he was branching off onto a tangent, and circled back around to the point.
"But the majority of the people in that bar were impressed, Dean. They saw you face an obstacle they could never dream of facing themselves, and they watched you come out on top. And that girl, Dean, she didn't care."
"Sam, you're–"
"No, Dean, let me finish! That girl didn't care about your leg, I know it. You saw pity and fear in her eyes, but what I think you were really seeing was your own fear and pity. You're pushing away from people before they can push away from you, and that's not going to help you get through this. You're never going to get better if you don't just put yourself out there. It may be scary, but you have to start being comfortable with yourself, being proud of yourself. You've accomplished so much in your life, and there's no reason you can't accomplish more if you would just get off your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself."
"Sam, you're right."
"Dean, please! Just let me...wait, I...I'm right?"
Dean nodded, a half smile playing on his face although the rest of his body still appeared completely downcast. "Yeah, Sam, you're right. About all of it. But what you're saying and what I have to do are two totally different things. You make it sound so easy. Just snap my fingers and be comfortable with the fact that something that's been a part of my life for twenty seven years is no longer there. Just forget that every time I let myself get close to someone I'm going to have to be reminded of the time I caught my leg in a supernatural bear trap and had the damn thing chopped off. Because you know they're gonna want to know and it's not like I can hide it."
"So you tell them." Sam replies simply, his head still reeling at the revelation that Dean thinks he's right. "You tell them the truth, or you make up another story. It's not like you haven't done that before, just to get a girl. I don't want to burst your bubble, Dean, but do you honestly think those girls in Chicago were hanging all over you because they thought you were Dean Winchester, demon hunter? Or because they thought you were Dean Winchester, big time TV producer? And what about–"
"Yeah, yeah, I get your point." Dean held up a hand to stop Sam from continuing, and Sam couldn't help but be a little disappointed that Dean's cockiness hadn't shoved through then to announce that, of course the girls wanted to sleep with him just because he was who he was and for no other reason.
But he moved on. That was, after all, the point he had been going for. That there was no sense in feeling the need to always tell the truth. "You know I didn't men it like that," he offered by way of explanation.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I know. So what's your big idea? What's your plan?"
Sam shrugged. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead," he apologized, then perked up. "But I'm sure we can figure something out."
Shaking his head stubbornly, Dean huffed and re-crossed his arms against his chest. "Let's just go," he said, pointing down the street.
"Dean," Sam hedged, "Missouri's house is that way." He pointed in the opposite direction of the way Dean was pointing, suspicion in his voice.
"And I'm not ready to go back yet. I want to go this way. Just drive; I'll tell you when to stop."
Shrugging and shaking his head, Sam finally pulled out of the parking lot and drove in the direction Dean wanted. They moved down the stretch for several blocks, silence once again invading the interior of the car until Dean's voice broke in.
"Turn left here."
Doing as he was told, Sm couldn't help a glance in Dean's direction as he tried to make out what his brother was planning. But Dean's face waxed firm and unyielding, giving no indication of his intentions. It was the same thing Sam had been dealing with for weeks, this inability to read his brother, and he feared that their conversation had done nothing for the stubborn man.
So it was with surprise and a hint of trepidation that Sam turned into the parking lot of another bar, a different one than they had been at earlier, after a series of ordered lefts and rights from his brother. He'd expected to find themselves at another park, or maybe a liquor store, but certainly not the very type of place Dean had stormed out of in fear and anger just hours before.
Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, unconsciously gripping the steering wheel as his heart rate began to speed up. "What are we doing here?" Sam squeaked out.
"Trying out your theory," Dean answered warily. Suddenly he wasn't feeling as sure of himself when the reality was in front of him. It had seemed like a good plan ten minutes ago as he and Sam sat in the parking lot. Do as Sam asked. Get the younger boy off his back. Go home and get a good night's sleep. But now that they were actually here, he wasn't so sure.
But looking over at Sam, and seeing the uncertainty playing across his own brother's feature's, Dean grew more determined. It wasn't until tonight, storming out of the bar, that Dean had seen anything but assuredness in Sam's expression. Even when Dean himself didn't want to do something, or didn't think he could, Sam still had that determination for the two of them. But looking at him now, seeing the concern over Dean's mental well being, Dean knew he had to change that expression. Never had he known his little brother to think of him as anything less than a hero, larger than life. And never again would he let him think anything less.
With determination coursing through his veins, Dean grabbed the door handle and opened the door, pulling himself from the car and making a beeline across the parking lot before Sam had a chance to lock the door; before Dean himself had the chance to think twice on what he was doing. He pushed into the bar displaying more confidence than he felt, calling upon age old hunter's techniques to quell his fear and distance himself from his concerns.
It seemed to work as he made his first scan of the country themed bar, taking careful note of the girls littering the place and making his initial assessment. As he crossed the room to the wet bar, desperately in need of a few more drinks in his system before making his move, he heard the door open again and knew Sam had just entered. But he didn't turn around, knowing that whatever Sam held in his expression would be too much to bear, knowing that if Sam had lost faith in him his heart would break. He didn't want to know just how far Sam's opinion of him had plummeted; he just wanted to be sure to bring it back up.
With beer in hand, Dean made his selection. Immediately, he marked off the list all the girls who were clearly taken, all the girls who were too scantily dressed, and those who wore too many clothes. The taken ones were an obvious problem. And he vetoed the scantily clad because they were too likely to be concerned only with appearance, and the too much clothes because those were the girls who were looking for a relationship. Either group was far too likely to turn him down. But then there were the girls in the middle, the ones who weren't so concerned with appearances that they scrutinized every last angle, yet weren't so concerned with finding the perfect husband that they ran at the first sign of imperfection.
As he scanned the bar, Dean's eyes finally fell on the perfect target and honed in. She was tall, but not too tall, and slender, with thick deep reddish brown hair streaked with blonde. It was done up in a high ponytail with whispy tendrils falling in her face. She wore fitted jeans and a pale green three-quarter length sleeved blouse, tied in a knot at navel level. She wore black heeled boots, but thick, remotely sensible even. And simple diamond jewelry, small studs in her ears, a rhinestone studded circle hanging from her neck, and a small studded ring on her right middle finger. And he swore she had a golden halo encircling her head, pointing her out as the one.
Downing the remainder of his beer in one long drag, Dean set the bottle back on the bar and made his way over to the girl, tying to make a confident swagger out of his limp. She was sitting in the corner, watching what he assumed to be one of her girlfriends on the dance floor with another guy, and she smiled shyly as he made eye contact with her. She looked casually to the empty stool to her left and then back at him, offering Dean the seat. He smiled as he took it, and breathed out a simple "hi."
"Hi yourself, stranger. Name's Suzanne." She winked and pulled her lip between her teeth, waiting for him to respond.
"I'm Dean," he replied. "You don't look like you're having much fun."
Suzanne shrugged. "I'm here with my friend, Ginny," she answered, nodding off to the girl Dean had seen her watching on his way over. "This isn't really my scene, but she drags me out here all the time in case she needs a wing man, but more often than not I just end up sitting here until I find out if she's going home with the guy or not."
Grinning, Dean looked over to the friend and took a minute to study her. "Looks to me like she's not coming home with you. Does that mean you're gonna be leaving?"
"I don't know," she replied softly, looking him dead on in the eye. "Kinda depends on whether or not I find someone worth my time."
There it was; the invitation. She was wide open to Dean's advances and he just had to decide whether or not he was ready to take her up on the opportunity. He glanced around the bar, seeing the dozens of couples swarming the dance floor, and more still at tables and booths. And then he saw Sam, sitting by himself on a barstool, his back to the bar as he watched Dean intently. Sam offered him a nod of encouragement and Dean knew what he had to do.
Looking back to Suzanne, Dean shot her a seductive smile. "Well I don't know. I think I might be able to find you someone worth your while." He fingered his cane nervously, but his smile gave away nothing but confidence as he worked himself through this.
"Are you propositioning me, Dean?" she cooed, her golden eyes locking with his.
He nodded, maybe more eager than necessary, but she didn't seem to notice. "I think maybe I am."
"Well, whadaya say we go over to a slightly quieter corner. It's too loud over here."
"Sounds like a plan." Dean gripped his cane and stood up, ushering her forward to a booth in the far corner. Suzanne led the way, sliding into the booth and watching Dean carefully as he did the same.
And just as before, curiosity overtook his companion as she watched his careful movements. "What did you do to your leg?"
Here was the next step; the explanation. Do or die. He took a breath, studying his leg an the cane intently, wondering if he could carry it out. And decided he had no choice but to try. "I'm a soldier," he answered, feeling as though it was only half a lie. He was right. "My unit and I were on a recon mission a few months back when I got caught up in a booby trap. Lost my leg below the knee." He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable rejection to come, already preparing to pull himself back up and leave before she could say too much.
But instead of rejecting him, she grinned wider, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she leaned in closer. There was no pity in her eyes, although concern seemed to play a part in her expression as she reached a hand out and gently, tentatively, placed it on his leg. "So you're kinda like a hero, huh? Wounded in action and all."
"That...that's not a problem for you?" he stammered, somewhat taken aback at her lack of reaction. "You mean you don't...don't want–"
She smirked, placing a finger on his lips to silence him. "I just have one question for you."
Dean cocked an eyebrow, waiting for it.
"Does it still work?"
Mouth agape, Dean nodded slowly, hardly believing how easy this had actually been. Inside, his mind was screaming, partying, celebrating in relief. But on the outside he was Mr. Cool, Calm, and Collected. Well, not so much, because he suddenly found himself thinking only with his downstairs brain, and that made him nothing short of giddy as a schoolboy. But that didn't so much matter, because he'd passed his challenge.
From the bar, Sam sat back watching as a smile played across his lips. He beamed with pride and ecstacy for his brother, finally relieved that he had succeeded in such a challenging feat. He was shocked at how well he'd played Dean, and even more astounded at just how good and actor he was that Dean hadn't realized how much of the visible emotions had been nothing more than acts. Sam had realized that Dean needed to feel his disappointment before he would actually make the effort to prove himself to Sam. And Sam still had a few tricks up his sleeve when it came to his brother; never show all your aces if you want to win the game. And tonight, one of Sam's hidden aces had been pulled out. He was a much better actor than Dean gave him credit for. And because of that, Dean wouldn't be coming home with Sam tonight.
Sam waited another twenty minutes, just to be certain, but then he made the decision to leave. His work was done. Dean was finally, really, on his way back to being Dean. He didn't expect any more huge backslides.