Redemption ch. 3 (part 2)

[neonchica]

  Redemption 3/8
(Arc 1 of a three part series - rehab)

Author: Neonchica (with assistance by co-author Betzz)

Title: Redemption 3/8 (Chapter 3, part 2)
Author: Neonchica (and Betzz)
Rating: R
Characters: Sam, Dean
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: Anything through season 2 is fair game.
Summary: Death was always an option. This - this was not. Dean has been rendered permanantly disabled by one of his enemies. Now, quadriplegic and ventilator dependant, Dean and Sam must work hard to overcome these new obstacles and learn to accept this new definition of living.


SUPERNATURAL

Out in the hallway Prentiss sends his students away and turns to glare at Sam, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “What the hell was that little show you just put on in there?” he demands angrily. He keeps his teeth clenched and his voice down, but the ire is noticeable regardless.

“I saw his finger move,” Sam protests. “I did. It twitched. I swear it.”

“No it didn’t,” Prentiss spits. “You know it, and I know it.”

“Honest. It did!”

Prentiss sighs, comes out with a voice that’s about as compassionate as he can muster which, to be honest, isn’t much, but still he tries. “Look kid, I know you want your brother to get better. But getting his hopes up over movements that aren’t there and cures that aren’t possible is only making things worse for him. You’re giving him unrealistic expectations, making him strive for a future that includes him walking. You need to get him to see the truth, Sam. You need to see the truth.”

Sam shakes his head, meeting the doctor steely eyed gaze for steely eyed gaze. “I’m sorry, doc, I just can’t do that. I can’t accept that there’s no hope.”

“Well you’re going to have to accept something, Sam. You’ve got to at least accept that this is as good as he is right now. Learn to deal with the here and now, and then, sometime in the future if - and I mean if - Dean somehow manages to start improving then you deal with that. But right now you’re just making things a hundred times worse. For Dean...and for yourself.”

“I can’t let him give up hope!” Sam protests, leaving out the need to keep his own hope alive as well.

But Prentiss just sighs again and shakes his head. “A little bit of hope is alright. But this, Sam, this idea that you’re convincing yourself he’s making gains where there are none is unhealthy. There’s a difference between giving up hope and learning to deal with the present. No one is saying you have to be giving up entirely; we’re just saying that you need to move forward with what you’ve got right now. And what you’ve g-”

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Prentiss is quick to hold a hand up in the air and put a halt to it. He forges on, picking up where he left off. “What you’ve got, Sam, is a brother who can’t move his body from the neck down and can’t breathe without mechanical support. He’ll be confined to a bed or a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He’s going to need round the clock care and support - something I don’t think you’re emotionally ready or able to provide, quite honestly. This is the time when you have to be looking into rehab hospitals and equipment and trying to find ways to make his life easier, ways to make your life easier. But right now you’re so focused on chasing pipe dreams that you’re unable to actually think about anything pertinent.”

The words sting, but not nearly as much as the truth they convey, and it’s all Sam can do to keep his composure in front of the doctor. It’s no secret that he wants Dean back the way he was before, but he can’t deny the fact that helping his brother, doing everything in his power to make all of this okay, needs to come first. And he can’t make things okay if he’s constantly running around pretending that things aren’t what they are. As much as he hates to admit it, Prentiss is right. He owes it to Dean to accept fact, to work with what they have and focus on dealing with that.

There’s been talk on the floor about his brother being discharged within the week, sending him to a rehab facility or a nursing home. Sam has ignored it for the most part, pretended they were talking about another Dean, another patient. When the nurses address the subject point blank he brushes it off and convinces himself that it is weeks down the road, months even. He’ll deal with it later. Always later.

But apparently, Later is now. And as much as he wants to run away and find a corner to cry in, it’s time that he man up and face facts.

Dean’s got a new life. One where he’s paralyzed.

Quadriplegic.

The word tastes bitter in his mouth. He wants to spit it out, step on it like a used piece of chewing gum. But instead he forces himself to say it again.

Dean is a quadriplegic. A ventilator dependent quadriplegic.

Saying it over and over doesn’t really make it better, but it makes it easier to swallow, easier to wrap his mind around it and go for the next step.

“What do I have to do?” He doesn’t even realize he’s talking out loud until he takes notice of Prentiss’ double take, surprise at Sam’s about face on the subject.

There’s a pause as the doctor composes himself and reprograms for the new, cooperative Sam. “For starters, you begin researching rehab hospitals.  Make a decision as to whether you’re going to use one near here or whether you’re going to take him somewhere else. I can give you recommendations, but you have to decide what’s best for Dean. And for you.”

Sam nods, over eager. “Ok, ok, I can do that. What else?”

“Um...,” for a change Prentiss seems out of his element, as though he’s not used to having these types of conversations, and Sam can’t help but wonder how often the over-zealous doctor pawns these conversations onto other, unsuspecting doctors after he’s performed his “miracle” surgeries.

Lotta good that did Dean.

“You also need to take a more active role in Dean’s care, start to learn what’s needed to sustain him in day to day life. I’ve noticed you leave every time the nurses come for procedures.”

“That’s because he kicks me out. He doesn’t want me in there,” Sam protests. He hates to say it, hates to admit that there’s something Dean doesn’t need him for, doesn’t want him to see. But he hasn’t exactly put up much of a fight, either. Sure, he goes through the motions. Says the obligatory protests, You sure you don’t want me to stay? ‘Cause I will if you want me to. But in the end, Sam’s never really been too upset about being told to leave. He hates to leave Dean, but he never really wanted to see all that other stuff. It’s too real, too final. Too much of this new life that he doesn’t want to accept.

Prentiss shrugs and begins to back away, apparently having decided his work is finished. “You’ll just have to work it out between the two of you.”

With a final glance toward Dean’s closed door, Prentiss turns on his heel and stalks off down the hall, leaving a shell-shocked Sam in his wake. Sam just stands there, watches the man disappear before he stumbles back against the wall. His knees give out and he sinks down to the floor, head in hands and fighting tears. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” he whispers, voice choked with emotion.




It could be seconds or minutes that he sits on the floor desperately seeking out an answer that doesn’t come to him. Eventually, he hears Dean’s door open and Jeanette emerges. She seems a bit rattled, and a lot annoyed, as she addresses Sam a little too curtly. “He’s finally calmed down.” She doesn’t say the rest, doesn’t tell him to watch what he says or does from here on out, and she doesn’t have to. Sam gets it.

He screwed up; big time.

He just nods and staggers to his feet, deciding it’s now or never. Gotta face him sometime.

Jeanette hasn’t restarted the bed yet so Dean can very conveniently keep his head turned away, his eyes averted. Whether he knows it’s Sam whose just entered the room or whether he just isn’t acknowledging anyone, Sam isn’t sure, but he doesn’t look. He’s deathly still, worse even than normal these days, and if it weren’t for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest and the beeping of the heart monitor Sam might have wondered if...no, he’s not going there.

“Dean?” It comes out in a hoarse whisper, hesitant and weak. Sam clears his throat and tries again when he gets no response.

“Dean.” He walks closer to the bed, puts his hand on his brother’s bare chest, and regrets it instantly. Stupid! Moving the hand upward, across Dean’s neck and then onto his face Sam feels an instant flare of remorse as he watches the contact cause his brother to flinch and draw away.

The movement isn’t much, only the little bit he’s able, but Sam gets it and he, regretfully, removes his hand. Suddenly he isn’t sure what to do with it and he flops it about for a while before finally stuffing it into his jeans pocket.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” Sam stops, unsure where to go with that statement. The words seem so insignificant, so meaningless in the grand scheme of things. I know I got your hopes up that you could freakin move again. Didn’t really mean it. Sorry ‘bout that, bro. I’ll try to do better next time.

A closer look at his brother fills Sam with a realization that he’s been fighting for sometime now. Adam and Lori Ann didn’t just take Dean’s mobility from him with their sick, sadistic form of payback. No, they took a lot more.

Watching his brother now, Sam can see him fighting off a well of emotion that he usually keeps hidden deep inside of himself. It’s all bubbling to the surface now, the pain and the toil of being kept prisoner in his own body forcing what little he has left to the top. He can’t fight it the way he used to do, can’t even control it.

Dean’s face is set in a stone of desperation, mouth held tight to ward off the trembles. He blinks compulsively, but tears have managed to surface despite his best efforts to keep them at bay, and his eyes are rimmed red. He’s been crying, Sam can tell, and he’s trying desperately not to continue.

“Dean, please,” Sam begs. He wants to sit down, but knows his only chance of Dean seeing him, seeing any of him, is to remain standing, within sight out of the corner of his brother’s eye. He moves to the foot of the bed and leans over top of it, arms propping himself up on the wooden frame at the base. “I hate myself for doing that to you,” Sam begins. “I just...I want so much for you to get better. I think, maybe, that I just finally managed to convince myself that I was seeing things that weren’t really happening.”

He’s not exactly sure what he expects from his brother. ‘It’s okay, Sam. I forgive you’ would be really nice, but not really logical. And it’s not exactly in Dean’s nature to yell at him and blame him for things. So he isn’t too shocked when Dean’s response is a big, fat, nothing. He remains unresponsive, eyes squeezed shut against the tears and head turned minutely away from Sam, biting his quivering lower lip compulsively.

Once again Sam reaches a hand out to Dean, lets it hover mere inches away from his brother’s face for several seconds before jerking it away. He’d like nothing more than for his touch to offer comfort, for his words to be the right ones. But Dean isn’t in that mind set right now, and Sam put him there, and right now there’s no way he’s bringing him back.

“I guess I’m gonna let you get some rest,” Sam says, realizing there’s really nothing else to say. Apologies only sound like excuses, and excuses sound like cries for forgiveness. And Sam knows he doesn’t deserve his brother’s forgiveness. Not after what he’s just put him through, not after throwing all that hope out to him only to tear it from his grasp with a mighty jerk.

Sam flips the switch for the bed and waits for the gears to start back up, for the bed to resume its rotation, before he crosses to the easy chair in the corner of the room. He isn’t able to bring himself to leave the room entirely, but knows Dean needs some time to himself nonetheless. So Sam curls up facing the wall, back to his brother, and just lays there. The thoughts and realizations of the past hour begin to sink in, ramifications of his actions flash through his mind and questions of where to go next and what to do start building up. Now that he’s actually come to grips with their situation there’s so much that needs to be done, and Sam has no idea where to even start.

He’s never needed his big brother more than he needs him now. But despite their close proximity to one another, they’re farther apart than ever. It doesn’t matter how much Sam needs Dean. He’s got to figure this one out on his own.

SUPERNATURAL

Days pass and Dean finally gives in and forgives Sam. It’s more out of desperation and loneliness than anything else, but when Sam is the only one who understands him, the only one with the patience to sit for hours and have a conversation with him when he can’t even make a sound, Dean quickly learns that forgiving his brother is in his best interest. It’s the only thing that will keep him sane.

When he really gets down to thinking about it he can’t exactly blame Sam for his reaction. Dean’s been imagining that he’s better for days now, in that time just after he wakes up and before he opens his eyes. He imagines he can move his fingers, can feel the pressure of air filling his lungs once again, can wiggle his toes. The only difference between himself and Sam is that Sam was able to jump up and run away, could convince himself that things were different because he wasn’t actually living it. Truth be told, Dean won’t deny he would react any differently if their situations were reversed.

So one day he finally answers Sam when he asks Dean how he is that morning. It’s short and succinct, one word. But it’s a start.

He moves on from there, replying with short sentences. And finally begins asking questions of his own again, initiating conversation. It isn’t long before they fall once again into the brotherly banter that they’re so used to. Sure, it would be better if it came out in full surround sound instead of the volume coming out through only one speaker, but it’s better than nothing.

Dean is slowly getting used to sitting more upright and the hospital staff has swapped beds so that he’s now on one that looks slightly more normal with a combination of air pressure and sand underneath the mattress to help avoid the pressure sores instead of the rotating contraption he’s been in. This one has more mattress flexibility, too, and they’ve got Dean sitting upright at a 30 degree angle, propped up by pillows on all sides. They’ve got him in a stiff Philadelphia neck brace with a hole in front for the vent. The muscles in his neck are too weak to hold his head up alone, and the further he manages to sit up in bed the more he needs the brace for support.

Sam has his chair turned so that he’s facing Dean, back to the TV, and they’re discussing the finer points of the nursing staff and the difference between the nurses on the ICU and those on the neuro-floor when someone knocks on the door.

“Door’s open,” Sam calls out without even looking up. They’ve gotten so used to people coming in at all hours of the day and night, and Dean has noticed that Sam no longer gets up unless it’s absolutely necessary.

He winks at Dean and makes some smartass comment about one of the college aged candy stripers that is always coming around peddling magazines and crossword puzzles. Dean can’t help but smile at that, knowing exactly the girl he’s talking about. But his smile quickly wanes as footsteps approach from the little alcove near the door and he comes face to face with the doctor zombon. That gets Sam’s attention, and he turns around.

“Milla?” Sam says, teeth clenched and anger escalating quickly. “I thought we’d been over this already. You’re not welcome here.”

Dean’s not entirely sure what she’s here for, but he knows he has to calm Sam down first, needs to hear her out before they throw her out. When Sam turns to offer an apologetic look Dean is quick to start talking, the look of desperation that keeps his little brother’s attention.

‘She can stay. Hear her out.’ Dean mouths to his brother. He isn’t too surprised when Sam makes him repeat himself, the look of disbelief on his little brother’s face enough to tell Dean that Sam doesn’t believe what he’s asking.

“Let her stay?” Sam asks, incredulously. “Dean, you can’t be serious.”

‘Not her fault.’ Dean mouths. ‘Victim, too.’

“She’s the reason you’re like this!” Sam protests frantically. “She did this to you.”

‘No, Adam did this. She was a pawn.’

“It was still her hands that threaded the wire, still her that hooked you up to the pulley system.”

‘Mind control, Sam. You’ve been there.’ Dean is determined, eyes steely and controlled. ‘Our responsibility.’

“What’s our responsibility?” Sam demands. “Right now my only responsibility is figuring out how to get you the best care possible. My responsibility is getting you better. I have no other responsibility.”

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Milla interrupts, drawing both sets of eyes back to her. She continues before Sam has the chance to stop her. “They told me at the nurse’s station that you hadn’t decided on a rehab hospital yet. I called in a favor; got you an opening at the top rehab hospital in the state. It’s called New Beginnings, and it just so happens it’s only about 20 minutes from here.” She’s looking straight at Dean, begging him for forgiveness, pleading with him to say he’s grateful, or thanks, or even just ok.

“I already looked into that hospital,” Sam says coldly. “It’s a private facility. We can’t afford it.”

Dean feels his gut clench, can see it’s killing his brother to say that. Sam has talked to Dean endlessly about his search for rehab hospitals, has talked extensively about the fact that they can’t financially afford the good places, can’t risk the poor care he’ll get at the bad ones. None of their fake insurance will hold out long enough for Dean to get the full effect of therapy, which means paying out of pocket. And the cold hard fact of the matter is that they don’t have any money.  Even if he could find the money for New Beginnings the wait list is months long, yet here it is being handed to them on a silver platter. Dean has no doubt Sam clearly wants what’s best for him, will do whatever it takes to do that.   And lord knows this is what’s best. If Dean stands any chance at all of regaining his life this is the place to go.




“Then let me cover it,” she volunteers far too quickly, too desperately. “I can work something out with them; I’m sure of it. Please, you have to let me do this.”

Something softens inside of Sam at the woman’s words. Not a lot, mind you, but Dean sees a change in his brother’s demeanor, and he plays off of it. ‘Hear her out’, he insists when Sam looks at him for guidance.

“Why do you want to help us so badly?” he asks, more gently this time.

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Because I couldn’t before. Because there was nothing I could do under Adam’s spell, but I can do something about it now.”

That seems to chisel away at Sam’s toughened exterior even more. Dean knows it’s softened him up more to the woman. In a way he can see where Sam’s coming from, understands the hatred his brother seems to harbor for this woman. And it’s not as though Dean isn’t pissed as hell over what happened to him. But he saw the way she acted when he was in captivity, could see her fighting against something the whole time...and losing. He knows it’s no more her fault than it is his own. Which, he supposes, makes it easier to carry more compassion for her.

Still wary, Sam broaches his next question cautiously, diplomatically. “Suppose we do go along with what you’re suggesting. What exactly are you offering here?”

Milla noticeably relaxes and sinks onto the small stool the doctor’s normally use when they’re talking to Dean and Sam. “I’m offering as much help as you’ll allow me to give,” she says timidly, wringing her hands around themselves as her eyes dart back and forth between each brother. “I’m a neurosurgeon, so I know all about SCI’s. I can offer advice and information. I can get you into a good rehab facility. More importantly, I can offer you a place to stay.” She looks straight at Sam as she says the last part and Dean directs his eyes to watch his little brother’s reaction.

“I can stay with Dean,” Sam says, as though the idea of him being anywhere else is pure nonsense. Dean has to admit, he can’t imagine not sleeping in the same room as his brother; not before, and especially not now. And clearly Sam feels the same way.

Milla shakes her head apologetically. “Not in rehab you can’t. They won’t allow it.”

“Then I’ll get a hotel,” Sam replies. He’s quick on the response even though the reality of the situation clearly unnerves him. It does Dean, too.

“For 3 to 5 months?” Milla questions. “That’s a lot of money. Especially when I’m offering you a place in my home for free.”

“Sometimes there’s more at stake than money.”

She chuckles nervously, and her voice comes out shaky. “What do you expect me to do, Sam? What do you think is going to happen?”

“We don’t accept charity,” Sam says, trying to be tactful. But when he sees her skepticism at that response, he adds, “and I’m not entirely certain I can trust myself to be around you that much.”

Dean notices the slight flinch Milla has towards that comment, but she recovers quickly. He guesses she must have prepared herself for abrasive comments, for a fight. “I’m not asking you to keep me company,” she tells Sam. “If all you want to do is sleep there, that’s your business. I just want-” she pauses, amends her comment, “I need to do everything I can to help. I think it’s the only way I’ll be able to come to terms with all of this.”

She doesn’t say ‘forgive herself,’ Dean realizes, and he wonders if she ever will. Wonders if he could ever completely forgive her, even knowing that none of this is truly her fault.

Sam looks back at Dean, desperation in his eyes as he begs his brother for guidance. Dean nods, almost imperceptibly, but the message is clear. It’s okay. Take her up on the offer. Give her a chance.

Sighing, Sam drops his head into his hands for a few seconds, then drags his hands down his face, his neck, and lets out a pent up breath of air. It’s clear he doesn’t like the situation, but just as clear that he realizes he’s got no other choice.

“My brother deserves the best treatment available,” Sam says, finally looking at Milla again. He’s almost staring her down, his gaze is so intense. “The things we do, the people we’ve helped...he shouldn’t go down like this. It’s not fair.”

Dean feels tears invading the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them back. It’s hard hearing Sam’s words, knowing how true they are. He’s always been prepared for the inevitable, but the inevitable - to Dean - has always been death. Not this. Never this.

“This place, this...New Beginnings. It’s the best chance Dean has?”

Milla flinches again, and Dean can see she’s warring with herself over details left unsaid. But she finally just gives a nod, chooses her next words very carefully.  “They’ll do everything possible to give Dean independence.”

The unspoken words are almost as loud as the spoken ones. Dean won’t ever go back to how he was; will never walk again or hunt again, will most likely never even breathe on his own again. Independence, the type of independence Milla is talking about, involves learning to control his wheelchair by himself and maybe being able to be left alone for a while without panicking that something may go wrong. The people at rehab will do their job, and they’ll do it well. But it won’t be about getting him back on his feet. He hears her loud and clear, but obviously Sam doesn’t. And for that, Dean is grateful.

He tunes the rest of the conversation out. He’s done his part, gotten Sam the help he needs whether he likes it or not. Milla will prove herself to be a good ally, despite the reasons they’ve come to know her, and Sam needs all the people he can get in his corner right now.

But Dean doesn’t want to hear the finer points of moving to the rehab hospital, doesn’t want to hear how Sam will have to find somewhere else to stay, that they’ll be separated for hours a day and all night long, over the next several months.

He’s not sure how much longer Milla stays after that, but he knows when she leaves. She draws him back, this time going the distance and placing her warm, gentle hand on his cheek to say goodbye, and thank you. He stares back at her, unsure what she’s thanking him for and unable to acknowledge it, instead blinks his eyes and bites his lip as he continues to fight back tears that seem unwilling to relent.




Watch out for my brother, Dean finally pleads of her, finding relief when she seems to understand him on the first try.

“I can’t fix what’s happened,” she replies, doesn’t even try to mask the sorrow in her expression. “But I can make the rest of this a little bit easier. You’re both in good hands. I hope you know that.”

In time, he’s sure he’ll come to trust it. But the emotions are still too raw right now and Dean can’t bring himself to accept her statement just yet. Although he does find comfort in the fact that she seems genuine, honest, hopeful.

SUPERNATURAL

The next day starts like all the other ones before. Sam wakes up to the rattling of the suction hose, keeping his eyes shut tightly at the sound of it. He knows that there will be a time when he has to follow Dr. Prentiss’ words and start participating in his brother’s care, but that’s not today. His nerves are still too raw from everything that went on this week and helping a nurse do all these… things to Dean is something that Sam can’t think about now, not when his brother is so obviously against the mere idea of it. Dean is a stubborn bastard and it takes a lot of energy to stand up against his wishes; besides, there are other, more urgent things to do today.

He waits for the nurse to finish with the first part of the routine, and then it’s his turn to officially wake up, with a little careful stretch, then to participate in their little “Want-me-to-help-No-Sure-Yes” ritual and then to disappear for the bathroom and later for a cup of coffee and breakfast downstairs.

It takes more and more energy to get up every day. Almost four weeks have passed since that night at the abandoned school and that makes it 25 nights Sam has slept on the easy chair in Dean's room, worrying about too many things at once, watching how his brother's life fell apart, and he doesn't even want to think about what Dean must have suffered all this time.

By now the muscles in Sam’s back are sore almost all the time. Apparently, all those hours he was asleep in the passenger seat of the Impala - and god, it hurts to think about the car, the road, their past- didn’t prepare him for night after night after night on a piece of furniture that was obviously designed for someone at least a foot shorter than him. Every morning, he wakes up with a back that feels like rock and legs that are still asleep and the knowledge that Dean feels nothing at all - and that is the worst.

Sam waits until the door to Dean’s room is securely closed before he starts stretching in earnest, trying to work out as many kinks as possible before he has to be back. These days he’s careful with moving too overtly in front of Dean, doesn’t want to remind him of what he’s lost -temporarily, Sam’s mind insists, it’s only temporary, Dean will be fine.

He spends some time in the bathroom, where he splashes cold water in his face, brushes his teeth and ponders his new attitude. Suddenly, there are all these decisions to make, and a new responsibility of finally having something to do instead of moping around in Dean's room, combined with the stern talk he got from Dr. Prentiss, have woken up Sam from a stupor he didn't even know he was in.

Now, future seems to be something that starts the day after tomorrow, when they'll transfer Dean to the rehab clinic. The spot at New Beginnings that Milla has secured for them has a tight time frame. Favors can only get you so far and thus they'll have to take Dean there at the end of the week.

So far, Dean hasn't been wearing clothes, to make his care routine easier; still something tells Sam that the rehab hospital might require pants at least, considering that the people grinning from the cover of that expensive looking brochure all wear track pants or something similar. He still only has a vague idea what rehab will actually mean for his brother. Maybe a sort of physiotherapy? Whatever it will be, there is a tiny problem.

Dean Winchester doesn't own a single pair of track pants.

SUPERNATURAL

It takes some of Sam’s inherited Winchester willpower to wander down to the cafeteria and from there to the little smokers’ porch in front of the door where cell phones are allowed and it takes even more to dial Milla’s number. He doesn’t want her help and he hates it that he needs her help, but he has no choice in this. Therefore, he reluctantly waits for her to answer the phone, cursing because he just realized that it’s ridiculously early in the morning and she’s probably still asleep.

Milla answers the phone after two rings and she doesn’t sound sleepy at all but rather like someone who’s been up for ages, waiting for an important call, and now has that specific breathlessness of sprinting across a room to get to the phone in time.

“Hi, it’s me… Sam. Listen, I need your help with something. Can you meet me at the hospital, the cafeteria? Around lunch time, maybe?”

She agrees so quickly and wholeheartedly that Sam can’t help but thaw the tiniest little bit. He knows she’s hurting, but, damn it, Dean is definitely suffering the most and it was her… No, no, he won’t think about it, not when he’ll have to spend at least some hours of this day with her. So, Sam gets a cup of coffee and something that vaguely resembles a sandwich and makes his way upstairs to Dean’s room again, where he waits another five minutes in front of the closed door. He knows the nurse has finished the morning routine by now, but better safe than sorry and he’s pretty sure that Dean needs these few moments on his own.

They spend the next few hours watching TV, just like every other day before. Sam pays even less attention than he usually does, at the same time trying hard not to look at Dean’s hands. He’s still not sure if he really saw movement or not, but he doesn’t want to risk seeing anything before Dean is ready to repeat the action in front of the doctors. Soon enough, Sam has sunken into a deep daydream; how Dean moves first one finger, then two; the unbelieving, shocked expression on Dr. Prentiss’ face and Sam’s “I told you so” and Dean breathing on his own, later therapy and finally, them together, back in the car, still hunting evil things in the dark and all this, all this horrible scary crap in too bright hospital rooms is forgotten as if it never happened.

Time goes by so much faster when you’re lost in your thoughts and Sam startles from his dream world the moment he first hears the lunch trolley on the corridor. He still hasn’t told Dean about his little plan yet, there just wasn’t the right moment for it and he really doesn’t want to upset Dean more than he already has.

So Sam runs his hand through his hair several times, shuffles a little in his seat and then he stands up, mumbles something about “Errand to run… clothes…stuff” and leaves the room.

Milla is already waiting for him in the cafeteria.

SUPERNATURAL

Dean tensly watches as the nurse connects another feeding drip to the tube in his stomach and then he relaxes while she starts to do things to his feet that are slightly out of his range of view. He didn't exactly understand what Sam mumbled just before he left the room, but strongly suspects that his brother went to do some laundry, and that means some alone time for Dean - at least an hour of precious being on his own - without Sam lurking and babbling nonsense of getting better.




Dean knows, and has known from the beginning, that there will be no recovery. Even if he likes to pretend that it never happened, even if he does nothing to stop Sam from dreaming, knowing full well that he's encouraging his little brother's self-conceit, Dean is a realist, and as a realist he knows that there is no coming back from an injury like his, not without a little supernatural help.

But there's no way that Dean will give in to another visit to a faith healer, not if it means that someone else could get burdened with his fate, and the demon option is just completely out of the question. Seriously, nothing good ever came from messing with fate, so no miracle cure this time, thank you very much, because if it has to be someone than it should rather be Dean than anyone else. He can only hope that he got it into Sam's thick skull that he wants nothing less than another fucked up demon deal. After all, there's still a final way out of this mess, one that Dean will think about sooner or later. Maybe sooner.

Time passes as Dean ponders all this, letting his thoughts run wild; thoughts that inevitably return to Layla Rourke's beautiful face, to his father, to Sam. And speaking of,  where is Sam? Almost two hours have passed since he left at feeding time, he really should be back by now, at least for a check in. Where the hell is he? He'd better be back before Oprah's on, because the TV's off and obviously, Dean can't turn it on himself.

Suddenly, Dean is missing the touch of a ginormous hand on his forehand, a thumb stroking his temple, Sam's smile of “I know you'll make it”, and almost immediately, he feels himself close up against that surge of emotion. Really, what would his father think if he saw him like this, helpless and needy?

But he needs people now; there is nothing he can do to change that, and most of all he needs Sam. Sam, who has gone who knows where to do something unintelligible to clothes. It really shouldn't come as a surprise, this startling realization of just how much he is dependent on his brother, not after almost a month. Yet, it was almost a month with Sam constantly at his side, only leaving when nurses were around or Dean was asleep. Now, with Sam gone that long, the solitude that Dean has craved turns into a new kind of hell, more painful than everything he has felt since he first woke up in the hospital.

It's so hard to know that you can't move or do things, but if you have someone to do them for you, then you at least you can still get things done.

But alone?

A black hole opens, when Dean realizes for the first time that there really is absolutely nothing he can do on his own. And then this overwhelming craving for body contact. He'll never ever tell Sam about this, never. When Sam comes back, he'll.. And then a new, terrible thought rips Dean apart like a knife and Lori Ann's words echo in his mind. If. If Sam comes back...

SUPERNATURAL

Sam's and Milla's greeting in the cafeteria consists of a small wave, a nod and a lot of feet shuffling, followed by one of the most uncomfortable silences of Sam's life. He tries desperately to hold himself back and keep this whole endeavor as civil as possible, while his previous behavior seems to have intimidated Milla to the point of speechlessness. Thus they wander to her car without a word between them, and it takes some time in the little red Ford on their way to the nearest Target for Milla to find the courage to speak up. “What exactly did you have in mind then?”

Sam sighs, but keeps his eyes glued to the road. “I'm not really sure. He'll need stuff to wear. I thought you might know what to get.” He pauses before he comes out with the most difficult part and turns slightly to look at her. “And I'm completely out of money. So, could you lend me some? Just for the time?”

Milla's face is filled with understanding and something else that Sam can only think of as fierce determination as she nods her agreement. “Sure. He'll get whatever he needs; you don't really have to ask for it, ok? Whatever I can do or give, it's his...”

Again, Sam is taken aback by her eagerness to help. So taken aback in fact that a tiny smile escapes his icy exterior, together with an almost inaudible thank you. Milla responds with a fractionally bigger smile, but Sam notices that her hands, tightly gripping the steering wheel, are trembling like an aspen leaf. “Are you cold?” he asks astounded, because it's as warm as it can be on a sunny day in late May. Very warm, actually.

She grimaces, but doesn't look at him, keeps her eyes on the road as Sam did before. “No”, she finally answers in a clipped voice that clearly conveys that she doesn't want to talk about it, “I'm just ... they say it's a PTSD thing. You know, post traumatic stress disorder. My hands... sometimes, I just can't stop them from shaking like this.”

“Oh”, Sam can't think of much else to say at this revelation. A tiny voice inside him is laughing and whispering “Yes, she deserves this, only fair after what she did...”, but a much larger part of him can't help but feel for her. Something like this must really suck, especially for a surgeon.

“Yep, sure does”, she says and Sam realizes that he actually said the last part out loud. “But sometimes I think that it's only fair, you know.” She changes gears to stop at a red light. “After what I did to him...”

They remain silent for the rest of the drive, the only interruption when Sam points out a good parking spot. Then they stand in front of the first aisle and Sam remembers once again why he needed her - apart from the ride.

“So, what do we actually need?”

She frowns a little, and Sam thinks that her hands relax slightly, now there is an actual task at hand. But then again, he's not the best judge for hand movement these days.

“Well, the obvious. Sweatpants and zip up hoodies, some plain t-shirts but mostly button up shirts. Warm socks that don't constrict at the elastic. Tennis shoes slightly bigger than necessary so his feet slide in easily - scrunched up toes happen far too often and are a nightmare for dysreflexia issues. Loose boxers for sleeping in at rehab. An electric toothbrush to make it easier for someone to brush his teeth. Lotion - paralyzed limbs tend to get very dry skin because there isn't as much contact to slough off the dead skin. Lotion helps a lot. Maybe a good blanket in place of a jacket, especially for the immediate future.”

She counts it all off on her fingers as though she’s gone through this list hundreds of times with patients, families, and when she’s done she points off to the left of the store and says, “we’ll want to start over there.”




So they get a shopping cart and soon enough it starts filling up with stuff. There are cotton track suits in grey and navy blue, one in a dark green that Milla insists on with a “Believe me; it will look great with his eyes.” Sam couldn't care less about his brother's eye color, he's more occupied with other things, like, Dean getting well again, for example, but he still allows her to take it. They find underwear and socks, and in the next aisle Sam notices that behind his back Milla has replaced the cheap black cotton socks that Sam had chosen with warm woolen ones that are about three times as expensive. He picks them up and turns to take them back, when her small trembling hand holds him back by the arm. “Please,“ she says. “They are better. Better for him.”

Oh, and Sam wants nothing but the best for Dean, in fact he's so filled with things he wants for Dean that he feels like exploding, but still - he just can't get too indebted and especially not too her.

Milla takes her hand away, but her eyes remain pleading. “Don't let your pride hold him back, Sam.” And just when he wants to snarl at her that she understands absolutely nothing, she adds “You know what? The socks can be a treat. Pay me back on the rest, but these are my get well present for him. No charity involved, alright?” And Sam reigns himself and agrees; then they split up to get the rest, Sam to electronics for the toothbrush and Milla for the lotion.

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