Picking Up The Pieces Chapter 12/13, NC17, Dean, Sam, Bobby, Missouri
TITLE: Picking Up The Pieces
RATING: NC-17
WORD COUNT: This chapter: 1982, Whole Story: 28890
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Missouri, OC's
DISCLAIMER: Don't own them, only playing with them
SUMMARY: Sam thought they were ok, that finding Dean would fix everything. He was wrong. It was just the beginning.
A/N: Sequal to Retribution and Breaking Points. Will need to read that to understand this.
Dean woke, slowly, comfortably, and in increments. He could hear soft voices coming from outside the room, and he felt no real desire to move from his comforting cocoon. Until he smelled the wonderful aroma making it's way under the door. Once his stomach started to growl, reminding him he hadn't eaten for what felt like forever, Dean decided to get out of the bed and go in search of whatever was making his mouth water. Carefully he pushed himself up, cursing as his still weak right arm buckled as he put all his weight on it. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated and pushed himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. After more cursing when he realised the bed clothes were tangled around his legs, he took another deep breath and attempted to stand up.
He let out what Sam would later tease was a squawk, as he put his weight onto his right leg and said leg proceeded to buckle under his weight. He hit the bed hard, his breath knocked out of him for a second. As he got his breath back he thought back over what Thomas had said about it being in his head and that he had to believe that he could do it. He took a few deep breaths, noticing the walking stick that was propped against the dresser against the wall. If he could get to the dresser, he should be ok to get out of the room. With another deep breath he stood up, leaning heavily on the bed, then the bedside table, a wave of vertigo assaulting his senses. He closed his eyes until the room settled back onto it's foundations. Once he was sure he was stable and the room would be right way up, he opened his eyes. With his left arm holding his weight he moved his right foot forward on the carpet, thankful for his socks preventing carpet burn. He leaned his weight on his left arm and right leg as he took a step forward with his left leg. His right leg protested a little but, with his left arm taking the majority of his weight, the leg didn't buckle. It was slow and tedious work, and by the time he made it to the dresser he was sweating and panting heavily. With much determination he grabbed onto the walking stick and hobbled his way to the door, thankful Sammy hadn't shut it completely and he could open it. He slowly made his way down the hall to the lounge room and fell heavily onto the couch, almost sitting right in Sam's lap. He hadn't noticed that Sam was sitting there, or that he had company. If he had of, he might have re-thought his decision.
As his breathing slowed down, and his head cleared enough to realize where he was and who was in the room he groaned. Sam helped settle him on the couch beside him, and Dean rested comfortably on the pillows behind him.
“Dean, did you walk out here by yourself?” Sam asked, his conversation with Bobby forgotten.
“Well, walk mmmay b-be a lit-tle bit-t of a s-stretch S-sam,” Dean stuttered out. He was still so tired and would have given almost anything to be back in the warm, comfy bed, but the smell of food coming from the kitchen was too good to resist.
“Dean?” Bobby ventured, but that was as far as he got. The look Dean gave him was enough to stop whatever he might have said. Dean looked at him with contempt and disgust, and Sam really didn't hold much more in his eyes. Dean held no recognition in his eyes other than that he knew Bobby was the man who had tried to have him locked up. It broke Bobby's heart to see Dean look at him like that.
Bobby sighed, and stood up. “I think I should be going. When,” he paused, trying to find the words. “I'd like to see you boys, you know, when you're ready.” He turned to leave, pausing at the entrance to the room. “I know what I did was almost unforgivable but, if you could, try to understand why I did what I did, and maybe,” he sighed again. “Just come see me ok?” Sam nodded his head, his eyes downcast. A few seconds later they heard the front door snick closed. As Sam stretched back into the couch, his legs kicked his laptop bag, and Sam dived into it, a triumphant smile on his face as he brandished the exercise folder in the air. Dean just groaned his protests as Sam knelt down on the floor next to Dean's feet and started to manipulate the muscles in his legs and feet, just as the physiotherapist suggested. A few hours later, after physiotherapy and dinner, Dean was out for the count. As Sam pulled Dean up and over his shoulder, he realised just how much weight Dean had lost throughout this whole ordeal. Sure, he was still heavy, but Sam didn't struggle under his weight the way he should. Sam vowed to rectify that.
********
The next 6 weeks went pretty much the same way. Sam pushed Dean to do his physiotherapy, even managing to sweet talk the woman at the local swimming pool to let them use it early in the morning, before most people were there. Dean quickly moved onto the full movement exercises, and both Sam and Missouri were pleased with the progress he was making. Pretty soon, Dean was walking around with the walking stick as his only help, and his stuttering and slurring only happened when he was completely exhausted. Sam had started to do some upper body training with him, keeping them both in shape, and he had started to get back into the early morning runs. He'd never understood Dean's reasoning for it until he went to Stanford, but now it was part of his routine and he felt itchy under his skin if he didn't go.
He came back from a run one morning to find Dean sitting in a rocker on the front porch, 2 books in his hands. Sam stopped when he recognized his father's and Dean's journals. When he thundered up the stairs Dean looked up at him, holding up the journals with a questioning look in his eyes. Sam crouched down in front of him, eyes locking with those of his older brother's. “So,” Dean started hesitantly. “I'm not crazy then.” Confusion crossed Sam's face and Dean let a smile cross his. “I've been dreaming about things, things that shouldn't exist, but... I knew, you know. I just knew that they weren't just dreams.”
Sam smiled too. Dean had been remembering a lot, but seemed to be blocking out anything painful to remember. He had completely blocked out the years Sam spent at Stanford, except for Jessica's death, their father's deal for his soul, and the many times John had forgotten important dates, like Dean's birthday. Sam knew they'd come back when Dean was ready to deal with them.
“No Dean, you're not crazy.”
Dean smirked at that one. Not the full thing, but the closest he'd come to since the whole ordeal started.
Dean handed Sam the journals. “Test me.”
“Huh?”
“Well, if I'm as good a hunter, that's what we are right?” Dean waited for Sam's nod of confirmation before continuing. “If I'm as good as those journals make out, then we better make sure I know what I'm doing before we get back out there.” Sam stared for a second. Dean wanted to get back to hunting already? It shouldn't have surprised him. Dean was never one to sit still, and in one place for too long. And, Dean was a better hunter than the journals said he was. His father's journal rarely praised him, and his own was more about details of the specific hunt and where he could do better next time. Dean deserved more praise, but because he'd never had it growing up, he didn't know how to take it.
Sam flicked Dean's journal open to a random page, not taking in what was actually written, knowing everything from memory. “Sure Dean. We'll start easy, uses for silver.”
It went on like that for the rest of their times at Missouri's. Sam would go for a run while Dean did his exercises, then Sam would test Dean on his knowledge of the Supernatural world over breakfast. Then there would be more training, mainly upper body, and some strength training for Dean's leg, before lunch. Dean would normally sleep for an hour or so during the afternoon and Sam would look for a gig. Then dinner and more exercises. Each night both boys dropped into bed exhausted. But the effort was paying off. Dean was healing, mentally and physically. And Sam had the best surprise when he came back from a run to see Dean running his hand lovingly over the Impala. “Hey baby,” Sam heard him say quietly, before opening the driver's side door and slipping in behind the wheel. Sam saw Dean relax for the first time in months at that simple movement. Sam felt a grin crack open his face as he quietly slunk past the car, letting Dean have his moment in private.
That night Sam looked up in surprise when a newspaper was dropped in front of him. Sam looked at Dean questioningly as he gathered up the paper, and looked at the page. Dean had circled, in red, anything that looked like a gig. “You sure?”
Dean shrugged. “It's what we do right? The family business... saving people, hunting things.” Sam remembered the same words coming from Dean when the hunted the Wendigo after Jessica.
“Yeah Dean, it's what we do.”
********
The next day the boys said a heartfelt goodbye to Missouri. She had become almost family to them over the last few months, and Sam wasn't sure they'd have survived without her. “Yes you would have honey. It's what you do.” She said to him as he hugged her.
“Thank you. For everything.” He said before stepping back and picking up the duffel bags that lay at his feet, before striding to the trunk of the car.
Dean took a long look around as he made his way to the front of the house. He felt safe here, in a way he hadn't since he was 4 years old. It made him a little sad to leave, but he was getting itchy feet, and he knew he needed to be on the road again. As he made it to the front porch, his baby gleaming in the early morning sun, he knew they'd made the right decision.
Missouri pulled him into a hug, glad that he was becoming the man he had been before. “You take care of yourself ok?” she asked him as she tightened the hug.
He squeezed her for a second before letting go. “I will. You too. Thank you. For everything Missouri.” He said repeating his brother's words. The slam of the trunk bought his attention to the car, and Sam standing at the driver's side door.
“You ready bro?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah,” and he made his way down the steps, still leaning slightly on the cane in his hand. He opened the passenger's door with a slight creak and slipped into the car, home enveloping his senses.
Missouri stood on the bottom step. “Don't you boys be strangers, ya hear?” she yelled to them as Sam started the engine, the big Chevy roaring to life.
“We won't,” Sam yelled out the open window. Both boys waved as Sam backed the big black car out of the driveway and she roared as he punched the gas, and they left Missouri and Lawrence behind them.