Chapter 24: Driving Mr. Smythe

SEBASTIAN

It hadn't even been a week since the incident on the pool patio, and Sebastian was almost to his wit's end as far as the crutches were concerned.

First off, they were just incredibly inconvenient on all fronts. He had yet to master going from one plane to another, which made it damn near impossible to climb the stairs to his bedroom. He was pretty much banished to the first floor of the house, which wouldn't have been so bad if all of his belongings weren't upstairs. Having to utilize his arms and hands to get around with the crutches meant that his hands were always occupied and he couldn't figure out a way to hold anything else. How was he supposed to text and move at the same time? Or even carry a glass of water from one room to another? He was tired, and he was hurting. He didn't want to have to dedicate whatever spare thought he had to come up with creative ways to improve his current livelihood. He missed when things were easy. He hadn't known how good he had it.

Secondly– and probably the most pressing issue, at least to Sebastian– was the way that the crutches felt under his arms. His armpits had become so sore and chaffed over the last four days, and he hadn't even left the house. Just ambulating around Artie's room and bathroom, and into the kitchen and living room when necessary, had already taken its toll on him. The sensation had become so skin-crawlingly unbearable that it had come to consume all of Sebastian's thoughts all of the time.

Eventually, Sebastian decided that he couldn't go on like this any longer. He did come up with one potential solution, but he knew it would take a lot of convincing on his end…

"Can I borrow your other wheelchair?" Sebastian had asked Artie outright on Saturday night.

He was emerging from Artie's bathroom, having just showered. After accidentally setting the tip of one of his crutches down in an unseen puddle, he'd nearly slipped on the tile flooring. Sebastian had reached his breaking point.

Artie– who was getting ready to head into the shower next– had just set out a pair of pajamas on his bed to change into, despite having spent the first half of the weekend trying to retain some privacy by changing in the bathroom. Seb guessed that using his bed to help him get dressed was plenty easier than trying to do so sitting in a wheelchair in a steamy bathroom and that he must have grown tired of the extra effort it took. It seemed as though he'd abandoned prioritizing modesty and returned to his usual post-shower routine.

Artie looked over at Sebastian and blinked a few times, clearly trying to make sure he'd understood his step-brother correctly. "You want to what? Why?"

"Please?" Sebastian whined. He'd been hoping to keep this interaction on the more mature side, but his desperation had come out. How embarrassing. "These things are so uncomfortable," he said, gesturing to the metal crutches under his arms. "It's all I can think about and it's driving me crazy. Look at how red my skin is!"

Thanks to his shirtlessness (if Artie could ditch his idea of modesty, then Sebastian figured he could do the same– opting to wear only his typical sleeping attire consisting of a pair of plaid boxers), when Sebastian lifted one arm, Artie was able to clearly see the way that the skin of his underarms was raw and red. "It's as painful as it looks," Seb insisted.

"Well, didn't the doctor say that you can ditch the crutches at the end of the weekend?" Artie asked. "It's Saturday night. You've only got one day left. You can't hang on for twenty-four more hours?"

"He said I could lose the crutches if the swelling in my foot had gone down and if the pain had mostly subsided," Sebastian corrected. "Neither of which seems to be in the cards. You see, my foot is still twice its usual size, and whenever the dosage of painkillers I'm taking wears off, the throbbing starts back up. How those two tiny fractures we saw on the X-ray could cause me so much pain, well, I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine on that one. But, the bottom line is, I'm gonna stay off my foot for a bit longer."

Artie still didn't seem convinced. "My old chair is way too small for you. I got it when I was first injured– I was eight! Hell, it's too small for me! And I don't think I have to tell you that you've got, like, four or five inches on me. You probably won't even fit in it," Artie insisted. "Plus, y'know, using a chair is kinda my thing." He shrugged. "What'll I be known for if you're out there, wheeling around in the world?"

"Look, I'm not out here trying to steal your brand," Sebastian replied, rolling his eyes. "Believe me. I just can't deal with one more day of these things. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my mind. So– and you can imagine how hard this is for me to do– I have humbly come to you asking for a favor. As your brother. Please?"

Artie's face softened just then and he appeared to be actually considering Sebastian's request.

"Fine," Artie gave in. "But on one condition– you can only use it at home. When you're out in public, you've gotta use the crutches. I'm telling you, you're probably not even going to be comfortable in the chair. It's gonna be a tight squeeze."

Artie was definitely right about that. Artie's old blue chair– which remained under a tarp in the garage, awaiting the rare moment it needed to be used– was way too small. While wearing his big boot cast, Sebastian couldn't even fit both of his feet on the tiny footplate, and he felt like his knees were close to touching his chest. It was not an ideal situation by any means, but Seb was too prideful to admit that Artie had been right. Plus, being folded up like a fortune cookie still beat the sensory overload that came along with having those uncomfortable crutches beneath his arms.

You win some, you lose some.

By the next morning, though, it seemed that he'd traded one problem in for another. While his armpits were grateful for relief from their duties, the palms of Sebastian's hands were now killing him.

"I have a blister," Sebastian told Artie, wheeling into the kitchen and holding out his hand. It was only right that he found something new to complain about just as the previous issue had been put to rest.

"Yup, that was bound to happen," Artie replied, not even bothering to look up from his breakfast of eggs and bacon. "Why do you think I wear my gloves?"

"Questionable sense of style?" Seb guessed, unhelpfully.

Artie stuck his tongue out in Sebastian's direction. "Coach Sylvester once tried to tell me to lose them because 'it's a wheelchair, Artie, not a Porsche'." He used his fingers to form air quotes before rolling his eyes. "But, you know what? It's hard work, having your hands responsible for getting you everywhere. My friends saw that, too, back when Mr. Schue made them all spend half the day in chairs," he added with a shrug. "So, sorry. I know it sucks, but you're the one that wanted to use the chair. I'd offer you some gloves to use for the time being, but I lost my old yellow pair somehow and haven't seen them since."

Sebastian immediately felt the color drain from his face. Oops.

"Yeah, about that…" Artie glanced up at him quizzically. "I may have an idea of where those ended up."

"Huh? Where?"

"The top shelf of my closet?"

The expression on Artie's face was unreadable. Was he mad? Irritated? Offended?

"I kinda hid them from you somewhere I knew you'd never find them. I mean, they're just so ugly. They don't match with anything, Art. Really, I was looking out for you, I swear!" Sebastian hurriedly insisted. He pointed to the pair of gloves that were on the kitchen table, for Artie had taken them off to eat breakfast. "And, look, the black ones look so much better with all of your outfits. I did you a favor! You should be thanking me!"

Artie, who had still yet to comment on the situation, silently took a sip of his glass of orange juice before finally speaking. "You," he said, "have had too much time on your hands this summer, you know that?"

Sebastian sighed, relieved that it didn't seem like Artie was angry with him. "I know."

"Well, why don't you channel that energy into something useful," Artie told him. "Starting with this."

Artie handed him the packet that was on top of the stack of papers he'd printed out and set on the kitchen table. Sebastian turned it over in his hands and studied it. Hollywood Hootenanny: A Tribute to Dance on Film, a short film by Arthur J. Abrams.

"The script, rehearsal dates, and shooting schedule for my latest project," Artie said. He set his now-empty plate on his lap, pushed away from the table, and set off toward the dishwasher. "The movie will be mostly choreography-centered– since it's about dance– but there's some dialogue in there too, to get the storylines moving. My visions for each of the six dance numbers are scripted, and Mike's gonna come up with the choreography ahead of time and send me videos to approve." Artie nodded at the script in Seb's hands. "You should start learning your lines. You're number one on the call sheet."

Seb looked at the script Artie'd handed him and, after flipping through it, he noticed that his part seemed to be one of the biggest. Okay, but surely Artie wouldn't…

"Wait, am I the lead?" Sebastian wondered.

"One of them."

"But… why? How?" Sebastian stuttered. "I mean, I can't dance right now. Not with my foot like this."

"Yeah, well, I've thought of that," Artie told him. "You and Quinn's characters are going to go on kind of a spiritual journey and move through these decades of dance movie scenes, and in the end, the audience is hopefully going to understand the importance of dance in our culture. You don't have that much dancing you need to do, and we can push the shoot dates of those scenes until your foot heals. Or we can film your parts with a double. Mike, or someone, and just film his feet, like the opening credits of Footloose. I'm still deciding."

Leave it to Artie to have already thought of everything and have a plan A, B, and C that he could enact if needed. Sebastian wasn't surprised at all.

"The first shoot day is scheduled for Thursday, so I have to drive around town today and drop off everyone's scripts in their mailboxes so that they can start learning their lines," Artie continued. "And I think that you really need to get out of the house. How would you like to come be my co-pilot today as I begin prep for the shoot?"

Sebastian shrugged. It wasn't like he had anything better to do. And, plus, Artie was right. He did need to get out of the house, even if that meant he had to bring his pain-inducing crutches along for the ride and leave the child-sized wheelchair at home. "Alright. Yeah, sure, whatever."

"Great," Artie said, pulling on his black gloves (but, thankfully, not making any mention of the yellow ones that he now knew Sebastian had stolen) and setting the stack of scripts on his lap. "We've got a long day ahead of us, so be ready to roll out of here in five."

Artie wasn't kidding when he said that they were going to be busy. Dropping off everyone's scripts was only the first item on the agenda, and Artie was certainly prepared.

"I've made a map," Artie said, handing a folded-up piece of paper to Seb in the passenger seat. Unfolding it, Sebastian found a handwritten list of all of Artie's friends and their home addresses. "I listed everyone out in a specific order: the further down the name is on the list, the further away they live from us. As my co-pilot, your job is to tell me where I'm headed next. Think you can handle that?"

"Seems easy enough," Seb nodded.

Tina's house was their first stop, followed by Sam, Brittany, Kurt and Finn, then Puck's. Sebastian was surprised to find that spending the day driving around with Artie was actually kind of fun. Artie had a good ear for music of all genres and liked to make playlists on iTunes to sing along to in the car, and his diverse selection of tunes made their drive pass quickly.

After completing the top portion of their list, the boys had worked up quite an appetite. Artie suggested that they break for lunch at Salazar's, something quick that would be sure to satisfy both of their palates.

"Look at the way everyone's eyes turned to the two of us when we walked in here," Sebastian leaned down as best as he could and whispered to Artie. Between his crutches and Artie's wheelchair, they were collecting a handful of stares from curious bystanders, just as they had at urgent care a few days before. "They probably think we're the victims of some sort of mass-casualty event. A train derailment, maybe. Or a super traumatic, massive, twenty-car pileup."

Sebastian assumed that Artie would be impressed by the great lengths his imagination could go, but the other guy didn't appear to be very amused. Sebastian thought he oughta lighten up a little bit. Seb considered himself to be a bit of an amateur comedian, and comedy was supposed to push the envelope and be a little offensive at times. Tough crowd.

After finishing their respective sodas and pizza slices, Artie and Sebastian returned to the road, setting out to tackle the second half of their list, consisting of the homes of Santana, Mike, Mercedes, and Blaine.

"Hey, isn't that Quinn's street?" Sebastian asked as they were driving away from Blaine's and heading back toward downtown Lima. "Aren't we going to stop by?"

"What? Oh. Yeah, it is," Artie said, but made no effort to turn around. "And no. She's away at her dad's for the weekend, remember?"

"Oh," Sebastian said. "How's that going for her?"

"From what she's told me, it's been fine. But I think she's putting up a front," Artie replied. Sebastian could tell that it bothered Artie a little bit– the possibility that his girlfriend wasn't being one hundred percent truthful with him. "She gets back tomorrow morning, though, so she's going to come over in the afternoon. I figure she'll tell me more about it then. That's when I'll tell her about the movie and give her the script, too. Anyways… where are we headed next? We've gotta be nearing the end, right?"

"Next up is… Hummel's? But didn't we already go to Kurt's and drop his script off along with Finn's?" Seb wondered. "Because I'm all out of scripts to hand out. Why do you have him on here twice?"

"No, we're going to the shop."

"The what?"

"Hummel Tires and Lube. Kurt's dad's tire shop," Artie answered. "I want to see if we can use the shop as a set for one of the big dance numbers. When I called Kurt to offer him the role of a featured dancer in the Newsies number, I mentioned my idea, and he gave me the go-ahead. But I want to ask Burt directly."

Sebastian thought that was kind of kiss-ass. Why ask again if you've already gotten the okay? It sounded to him like Artie's just risking a rejection. But being that Artie was in the driver's seat, off to Hummel Tires and Lube they went.

"Well, hey there, Artie!" A bald guy wearing coveralls and a baseball hat who Seb guessed was Kurt's father… interesting… greeted them, sliding out from underneath a car. "Nice to see ya. Who's this?"

"My step-brother, Sebastian," Artie replied. "He goes to Dalton, actually."

"Oh, you don't say. I'm Burt Hummel, pleasure to meet you."

"Sebastian Smythe," Seb replied, taking one hand off of the handle of his crutch and sticking it out before he registered the absurd amount of grease that Burt had on his skin from fixing cars all day.

After they shook hands, Sebastian felt beads of sweat begin to form on his forehead. The substance that now coated his hand taunted him. Without a better option, though, he could only internally cringe as he wiped the grime on the green Lacoste polo he was wearing. Better to take a chance with ruining the shirt than the pair of white chino shorts he'd paired with it (Sebastian was trying to make the most out of wearing his summer whites before Labor Day rolled around). He made a mental note to set some time aside later to stain-treat that spot in an attempt to salvage the polo.

"So, what brought you in today?" Burt wondered. "Your tires aren't giving you any trouble, are they?"

Sebastian wasn't quite sure if the man was referring to the tires on the car or the ones on Artie's chair, but Artie just shook his head.

"No, I'm all set. I actually just had a question for you, if you have a minute."

"Shoot."

"I don't know if Kurt or Finn have told you, but I am applying to film schools this fall," Artie said. "Part of that application process is a portfolio of some examples of my work, so I've rallied some friends to help me with the production of a short film project I'm directing."

"That's great!"

"Thanks," Artie told him. "I want to do a tribute to a handful of iconic movies," he explained. "I have this whole 'Greased Lightning'-inspired number envisioned, and so I was wondering if you'd be generous enough to loan us the garage sometime to shoot a number in?"

"Sure, I don't see why not," Burt replied with a shrug. Sebastian had to commend the older guy's shamelessly casual way of going about things.

"Great, thank you so much!" Artie exclaimed, handing Burt one of the tentative shooting schedules he had already made up. "Take a look at these dates and let me know what works for you. Sometime after hours would do just fine! I respect that this is a functioning business, and I recognize that you're going out of your way to accommodate us, so we wouldn't want to be in the way."

"Uh… sounds good," Burt said mindlessly as he scanned the sheet Artie had handed him. Sebastian rolled his eyes. One of these days, Artie's word-vomiting and over-preparedness was going to do him more harm than good. Bombarding everyone with more information than they can process isn't a proper way to go about things. "I'll pass this along to Kurt. He's a lot better than me at the whole 'keeping everything organized' thing. He'll get back to you."

Artie profusely thanked Mr. Hummel for his time and his commitment to the production before they loaded back up in the car again to drive across town, presumably toward home.

Turning onto Main Street, Sebastian felt himself glancing wistfully out the window when he knew they'd be coming up on the ice cream shop. After a lifetime of resisting any sort of labor, he was surprised to find that he loved his job so much. He'd only been out of commission for a couple of days and he missed it more than he expected to.

"Um, what are you doing?" Sebastian asked when Artie turned on his turn signal and pulled into the ice cream store's parking lot. "I thought we were going home."

"You have work tomorrow," was all Artie said, putting the car in park.

"Uh… not in my current situation, I don't," Sebastian reminded him. "You have to be on your feet all day in that place. It was in the contract thing I signed."

"Did the requirements say that you had to be able to lift fifty pounds too?" He wondered. Sebastian nodded. "And how many times have you done that?"

"I dunno." Sebastian shrugged. "Sometimes I have to replace the ice cream containers when we run out and those can get pretty heavy."

Artie laughed then shook his head. Seb wasn't sure what was so funny. "Those are some old ableist tricks plenty of places include in their job listings so nobody like me applies," he told him. Artie opened the door and began assembling his chair on the gravel driveway. "We're gonna figure it out. Come on."

"What are you doing?!" Sebastian repeated. "You can't just go in there and ask to go behind the counter. There are rules about those types of things."

"Relax. I called this morning and told them to expect us," Artie said, silencing Sebastian's protests. Seb should have guessed that Artie wouldn't have done anything on a whim like this. The other guy didn't have an impulsive bone in his body. "Plus, we've gotten a lot of movie prep done today. I don't know about you, but I could use some ice cream."

Seb's crutches prevented him from assisting Artie over the lumpy gravel driveway, so they very slowly made their way from the car around the side of the building to where the employee entrance was. Sebastian found himself to be uncharacteristically meek, awkwardly trailing behind the ever-confident Artie, as if Artie was the one who worked there and not him.

"Sebastian! Good to see you!" His boss, Mr. Sanderson, greeted the boys as the bell on top of the door jingled when they entered. "And you're his brother?"

"Yes, sir." Artie stuck out his hand for a shake. "Artie Abrams. We spoke on the phone. I'm a good friend of Sam Evans', too. It's nice to meet you."

"And you as well," the older man replied. "Well, Sebastian, we're looking forward to having you back sooner rather than later. Artie here says he's gonna help make that happen."

"Yup," Artie confirmed before looking up at Seb. "Welcome to the assimilation stage of your disabled life," he told him. "The world's not made with us in mind, so sometimes we've gotta navigate our own way."

"I think you're enjoying this too much," Sebastian noticed. He hadn't expected Artie to turn a stop for ice cream into some kind of teaching moment. Though, he probably should have.

"Just a little," Artie admitted with a sly smile. "You're, like, my young Jedi and I get to show you the ropes. It's all about accommodations, and lucky for you, you have a brother who is super creative and an expert at those. So, what are your concerns?"

"I don't know," Sebastian answered dully, suddenly self-conscious with both his brother's and boss' attention on him. "I guess I'm worried about standing for long periods and about scooping ice cream on one foot. The last thing I need is to lose my balance and send someone's order tumbling to the floor. That would be embarrassing…"

Artie nodded, glancing around the room for something that could solve this problem. Sebastian noticed the moment that his gaze landed on a stool with wheels on the bottom that had been cast off in the corner for as long as Seb had worked there.

"What about that?" Artie asked, pointing at his find. "I mean, you may have to briefly stand to lean into the freezers, but I don't see why it wouldn't work otherwise." Turning to Mr. Sanderson, Artie asked: "Would you mind if Sebastian uses that during his shift until his foot heals? Or, you know, at least until he's off of his crutches?"

Mr. Sanderson nodded as he went to retrieve the rolling stool. "I don't see why not." He gestured to a group of teenage girls who were approaching the order window. "Look, here comes a group of customers. Why don't you give it a trial run and see how it goes?"

Sebastian could think of few things he'd like to do less. Teenage girls were his least favorite demographic of customers to serve. They were too giggly, and indecisive, and he just didn't understand them at all. He never had the patience to deal with them. But… wait a minute… is that…?

"Ella?"

"No way, they let you back in here already?" his shocked younger sister asked. She was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. She was with a few girls that Sebastian didn't recognize. They must have been some of the Cheerios she'd been hanging around with all summer.

"Oh, this is awesome," Artie commented, amused by this whole situation. "El is the perfect customer to test this out on, 'cause you know she won't complain if you're too slow or if you mess up her order. And if she doesn't tip you well, you know where she lives."

Ella introduced her older brothers to Steph, Lily, and Olivia, some sophomores from the team that she'd clicked with. After handing Artie his crutches to hold onto, Sebastian took down their orders. Artie's suggestion of the stool worked like a charm, and to his great relief, everything went as smoothly as could be.

As Ella and her friends counted their cash to pay for their orders, Sebastian glanced over his shoulder to where Artie watched the whole exchange with a proud expression on his face. Catching Artie's eye, he mouthed 'thank you', to which Artie responded by flashing a tight-lipped smile, nodding knowingly.

Once again, Sebastian found himself endlessly grateful for Artie's existence and guidance. He wasn't sure what his life– these days, especially– would look like without his presence. Seb always had a lot to learn, but knowing that Artie was there for him made everything bearable.