writers_muses | 128.2.E. G.K. Chesterton quote
128.2.E. "I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on man unless they act." - G.K. Chesterton
Co-written with drivemystick
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
Simon was beginning to wonder just what the fuck he did for his luck to have gone down the shitter like this. As if being in traction and having nurses hanging around left and right, affording very little privacy, some electric fault in his room leading to the defibrillator something or other meant he had to be put into another room with another patient. His protests that he wasn't planning on having a heart attack anytime soon and wouldn't need the electricity went unheard. It was an occupational health and safety issue. Telling them he wasn't an employee, so it didn't matter, didn't work either. So, now here he was, in a double room with another dude. He couldn't even score on a sexy chick with nice tits for a room mate. All he had was a pigeon sitting on the windowsill looking at him funny and about a blink away from giving him a paranoia complex. He only broke his eye contact with the evil bird that he was trying to stare out when the other occupant in the room groaned and started to shift in his bed.
Looking over curiously, Simon eyed the guy for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. "You alright, dude?" he soon asked. It was the first words that had even passed between them. When Simon got moved to the room earlier that morning, the other guy was taking a shower, but Simon fell asleep before he got out so there wasn't a chance for any squishy introductions. When he woke up, the guy was asleep. It was like a fucking sedated game of musical chairs. He didn't even know how the other guy felt having a room mate, and he had an urge to apologise for, but bit it back. It wasn't his fault the hospital equipment sucked, and the guy might be an asshole. He would apologise - maybe - if he was an okay sort.
Sam sat on the side of the bed and squeezed his head softly into his hands. He was pretty much indifferent about the notion of a room mate, he just hoped his nightmares and shit didn't disturb the guy too much. He had protested, too, but not because he particularly cared about his privacy. He just didn't want to bother anyone else... and he didn't want anyone overhearing if he was talking about hunting shit in his sleep during the nightmares. Plus, he was worried he might not have much chance to talk to Dean about stuff with someone else in the room, but after complaining to Ailbe about his concerns (not mentioning the talking in his sleep thing), she managed to assure him that his new room mate - Simon - was a nice guy, very personable, but also pretty banged up. He spent a lot of his time sedated, but that was getting a little better. To reassure him some more, she told him there was a family room just down the hall that afforded privacy and he could talk to Dean there whenever he needed. Sam figured he would pretty much just keep to himself, and the other guy would too, but now there was conversation and Sam was a little surprised by it. "Uh," he began, still trying to squeeze the headache away, "I... not really?" he answered honestly, opening his eyes to give the guy a pained, wry but faint smile. "But believe me, I feel like a jerk saying that considering..." He held out his other hand, waving it in Simon's general direction. Traction looked like two steps from Hell, in Sam's opinion. He blinked a couple of times, still trying to wrap his head around the fact Dean had been in Hell. It didn't seem... possible?
"Hey, man, it's cool. I would shrug if I could. I ain't gonna play the sunshine and happiness card. It sucks like you wouldn't believe, but I ain't a dickhead. My career is risky, and sometimes we have to pay the price of that. Shit happens. I'm lucky to be alive and all that. Don't think just because they have me in the med fetish bondage equipment that it means whatever you went through was any less serious. You don't look so hot. If you're gonna puke, just go for it. I ain't the squeamish sort. I'd get you a Tylenol, but you know..." Simon said, still eyeing his roommate closely. For some reason, he just got a sense the guy had a lot of secrets.
"Thought that counts?" Sam offered with a shrug of his own. His voice was strained from the pain and he cleared his throat. "I'm trying to go without painkillers, anyway. Don't wanna get reliant on them, you know? I need to get out of here soon, to go and help my brother. I figured if I could at least go without painkillers, it'll be a start. So... what is it you do that landed you looking like, well, yeah, a bad medical fetish?" He felt a tug of relief in his gut that the guy he was sharing a room with seemed friendly enough. It would royally suck if he got someone he couldn't even hold a conversation with.
Simon looked at Sam like he had just sprouted a giant penis out of his head. "Dude! Are you mental? They ain't gonna be giving them to you if you don't need them. You could set yourself right back if you can't cope with the pain. Trust me, I've seen it. How would your brother feel if he knew you were deliberately causing yourself pain for him? I have a big sister, and if I did that, she would probably belt me repeatedly with the pillow, before moving onto something with more emphasis. Plus, I'd get yelled at. A lot. Very loudly, too. And she does this handwaving thing when she's super pissed. It's not pretty. I'm always waiting for her to take my eye out. But my point is, man, don't do it to yourself. It ain't your friend, you look like hell. What help are you going to be to your brother curled up in the fetal position wishing you were dead?" He glanced at the cup of water with a straw on the table beside his bed. "Dude, do me a favour and help me grab a drink there. Saves dragging the nurses off more important shit. Which probably really is, you know, shit in some capacity. I'm a stunt driver, movies and TV shows. Some metal debris on the road flung up into the motor when I was trying to do a jump. Long story short, I got intimately acquainted with a brick wall. But on the upside, it's been eight weeks or so now, so it shouldn't be too long before they get me out of this and figure out if I'm screwed permanently."
Sam had to laugh as he stiffly got up off the side of his bed and shuffled over to help the guy with a drink. "I'm Sam, by the way," he introduced himself, the headache causing him to completely forget to keep up the whole 'Jimmy' facade. "And Dean's gonna love you. He's got a car fetish. His Impala is his pride and joy. I'm pretty sure most of the time he'd pick that over me. In Dean's case, oil is thicker than water. Permanently? You think there's a chance you won't get better? After something like that, do you think about packing it in? Giving it up?" He scrunched his nose up a little, wishing the lights in this room were dimmer when they started to feel like they were drilling into his eyeballs. "I just read somewhere that the sooner you can go off painkillers, the less reliant you get. The body doesn't get used to them." He waited for the guy to finish the water and then went back to sit on his bed. After a couple of moments, he laid back down again. Horizontal was definitely better right now.
"Simon. It's nice to meet you, man. Cheers for the help, I appreciate it." Simon whistled in appreciation. "Impala. Niiiice. I'm very impressed. That's one cool car to get behind the wheel of. A few years back, my sister and me restored a 1967 Pontiac GTO. From scratch. It was barely more than a shell and she picked it up from an old cop buddy. It was awesome, and we got to spend a lot of time together. Ain't anything like quality sibling bonding. We only had about a billion arguments and fights, too. That's her baby now, especially considering I ain't sure if she's ever gonna make me an uncle. Too independent and ballsy to settle down yet. Saw her knee a guy in the balls once for stubbing out a cigarette on her car's hood. But yeah, permanently. It's been too soon to tell how anything's healing much considering I'm stuck in the torture device. They're optimisic, but I prefer to live in reality. I'm a firm believer in living for the moment, though. If this is my lot, it's my lot. It ain't gonna make me get off your case about the pills though, dude. You need to stop reading, that's a load of bullshit right there. You need basic cognitive functioning to heal. The brain's a fucked up place. It stops working when you're in pain. Seriously, man, they wouldn't be giving you the shit if you didn't need it, and no offense, you really look like you need it. What happened to you anyway? You could be on pills for awhile. Just deal with it. Better than trying to put up with it and being two steps from a vegetable barely functioning. If you ain't got full capacity of your body, look after your mind, if you ain't got full capacity of your mind, look after your body."
Sam's forehead creased as he listened to Simon, absorbing his wise words. "You sound like you're close to your sister, even if you do argue. I can get that. I... guess Dean and I are close, sort of. In some way. I mean, it's only us. Our parents are dead, and Dean's pretty much all I've got. He... uh... had to go away, though, and that's why he wasn't here. He didn't know I got hurt. So, I guess we're close, just unconventionally. He's not much of a touchy-feely sort. Doesn't like PDAs, gets awkward when you try to thank him or tell him how much he means to you. Still, it's just us, so we try to look out for each other. I... I don't know what happened to me. I've got amnesia, apparently. Dean says I've lost about three years of my memory..." He cleared his throat. That alone was unnerving for Sam. It just increased the pain in his head whenever he concertedly tried to figure out what was missing from the gaps in his memory. It felt like he was reaching out for something that wasn't there. He also assumed that he was twenty... five now? Not twenty two like he thought. Weird. Damn weird. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. It was too much to process. He did, however, start to get a niggle of guilt in his gut when he thought how Dean might react if he told him he was rejecting pain medication. He had already gotten a disapproving look of Ailbe, and now Simon, an almost complete stranger, was caring enough to ride his ass about it. It was surreal for Sam, to say the least. "So, if you've got permanent damage, you'll just roll with it? I can think of a few people who could use taking a leaf out of your outlook on life. It's not always easy just... rolling with it. Do you have regrets? If someone told you tomorrow that you couldn't drive again, couldn't do the job, how would you feel?"
Simon didn't even hesitate when he answered. "Completely fucking devastated," he admitted, pressing his lips together briefly. "Just because I live with the moment, doesn't mean I ain't human. 'Course I have regrets, not maybe not as many as most who have hang ups about life would. I've done things I'm not proud of. I've made ba choices, but I don't hate myself for it. My work is my life right now. Other than my family and my dog, work is what I live and breathe. It fuels me, gives me a reason to get up in the morning. Without it... well, I ain't sure. Haven't let myself think that far in advance. Taking each day means you don't anticipate too much. It's a waste of energy. Nothing ever goes according to plan anyway. I woke up that morning expecting to wrap my scenes, instead, I was nearly killed. That's life. And life's not something I wanna wake up one day and realise I wasted. You only get one, and you never know when your time will be up. So, I roll with it. Que Sera Sera. Speaking of, you really should let your brother know you're glad his back if you ain't already. Same as our time could be up at any time, so could any of our loved ones. He might not like the PDAs or gets an iggy feeling when someone appreciates him, but you each only got one brother. Hug him enough, he'll soon get over it."
Sam remained quiet and nodded, losing himself in his thoughts. Simon was scarily right, and Sam was starting to wonder if maybe he had been put in a room with him for some sort of higher reason. He didn't often just open up and talk to anyone, and he wasn't sure why Simon seemed easy to be honest with. Even if the honesty was patchy and selective. Everything Sam had said so far had been honest, just censored on some level. He really had missed Dean, but he hadn't outright emphasised the fact because Dean went weird with things like that. But maybe Simon was right? Either way, Sam was painfully happy and relieved to have his big brother back, because he really wasn't sure he could - or wanted to - face this life thing without his protection. Without him, full stop. Dean was the only person in Sam's whole life who had been there forever. "Thanks, dude," he finally mumbled, folding his arms protectively around himself. They fell into silence, but Simon had given Sam a lot of food for thought. He just didn't know what he was supposed to do next.
He wasn't sure if he even knew who he was anymore.
Word Count | 2,459
Co-written with drivemystick
[Follows THIS, THIS and THIS]
Simon was beginning to wonder just what the fuck he did for his luck to have gone down the shitter like this. As if being in traction and having nurses hanging around left and right, affording very little privacy, some electric fault in his room leading to the defibrillator something or other meant he had to be put into another room with another patient. His protests that he wasn't planning on having a heart attack anytime soon and wouldn't need the electricity went unheard. It was an occupational health and safety issue. Telling them he wasn't an employee, so it didn't matter, didn't work either. So, now here he was, in a double room with another dude. He couldn't even score on a sexy chick with nice tits for a room mate. All he had was a pigeon sitting on the windowsill looking at him funny and about a blink away from giving him a paranoia complex. He only broke his eye contact with the evil bird that he was trying to stare out when the other occupant in the room groaned and started to shift in his bed.
Looking over curiously, Simon eyed the guy for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. "You alright, dude?" he soon asked. It was the first words that had even passed between them. When Simon got moved to the room earlier that morning, the other guy was taking a shower, but Simon fell asleep before he got out so there wasn't a chance for any squishy introductions. When he woke up, the guy was asleep. It was like a fucking sedated game of musical chairs. He didn't even know how the other guy felt having a room mate, and he had an urge to apologise for, but bit it back. It wasn't his fault the hospital equipment sucked, and the guy might be an asshole. He would apologise - maybe - if he was an okay sort.
Sam sat on the side of the bed and squeezed his head softly into his hands. He was pretty much indifferent about the notion of a room mate, he just hoped his nightmares and shit didn't disturb the guy too much. He had protested, too, but not because he particularly cared about his privacy. He just didn't want to bother anyone else... and he didn't want anyone overhearing if he was talking about hunting shit in his sleep during the nightmares. Plus, he was worried he might not have much chance to talk to Dean about stuff with someone else in the room, but after complaining to Ailbe about his concerns (not mentioning the talking in his sleep thing), she managed to assure him that his new room mate - Simon - was a nice guy, very personable, but also pretty banged up. He spent a lot of his time sedated, but that was getting a little better. To reassure him some more, she told him there was a family room just down the hall that afforded privacy and he could talk to Dean there whenever he needed. Sam figured he would pretty much just keep to himself, and the other guy would too, but now there was conversation and Sam was a little surprised by it. "Uh," he began, still trying to squeeze the headache away, "I... not really?" he answered honestly, opening his eyes to give the guy a pained, wry but faint smile. "But believe me, I feel like a jerk saying that considering..." He held out his other hand, waving it in Simon's general direction. Traction looked like two steps from Hell, in Sam's opinion. He blinked a couple of times, still trying to wrap his head around the fact Dean had been in Hell. It didn't seem... possible?
"Hey, man, it's cool. I would shrug if I could. I ain't gonna play the sunshine and happiness card. It sucks like you wouldn't believe, but I ain't a dickhead. My career is risky, and sometimes we have to pay the price of that. Shit happens. I'm lucky to be alive and all that. Don't think just because they have me in the med fetish bondage equipment that it means whatever you went through was any less serious. You don't look so hot. If you're gonna puke, just go for it. I ain't the squeamish sort. I'd get you a Tylenol, but you know..." Simon said, still eyeing his roommate closely. For some reason, he just got a sense the guy had a lot of secrets.
"Thought that counts?" Sam offered with a shrug of his own. His voice was strained from the pain and he cleared his throat. "I'm trying to go without painkillers, anyway. Don't wanna get reliant on them, you know? I need to get out of here soon, to go and help my brother. I figured if I could at least go without painkillers, it'll be a start. So... what is it you do that landed you looking like, well, yeah, a bad medical fetish?" He felt a tug of relief in his gut that the guy he was sharing a room with seemed friendly enough. It would royally suck if he got someone he couldn't even hold a conversation with.
Simon looked at Sam like he had just sprouted a giant penis out of his head. "Dude! Are you mental? They ain't gonna be giving them to you if you don't need them. You could set yourself right back if you can't cope with the pain. Trust me, I've seen it. How would your brother feel if he knew you were deliberately causing yourself pain for him? I have a big sister, and if I did that, she would probably belt me repeatedly with the pillow, before moving onto something with more emphasis. Plus, I'd get yelled at. A lot. Very loudly, too. And she does this handwaving thing when she's super pissed. It's not pretty. I'm always waiting for her to take my eye out. But my point is, man, don't do it to yourself. It ain't your friend, you look like hell. What help are you going to be to your brother curled up in the fetal position wishing you were dead?" He glanced at the cup of water with a straw on the table beside his bed. "Dude, do me a favour and help me grab a drink there. Saves dragging the nurses off more important shit. Which probably really is, you know, shit in some capacity. I'm a stunt driver, movies and TV shows. Some metal debris on the road flung up into the motor when I was trying to do a jump. Long story short, I got intimately acquainted with a brick wall. But on the upside, it's been eight weeks or so now, so it shouldn't be too long before they get me out of this and figure out if I'm screwed permanently."
Sam had to laugh as he stiffly got up off the side of his bed and shuffled over to help the guy with a drink. "I'm Sam, by the way," he introduced himself, the headache causing him to completely forget to keep up the whole 'Jimmy' facade. "And Dean's gonna love you. He's got a car fetish. His Impala is his pride and joy. I'm pretty sure most of the time he'd pick that over me. In Dean's case, oil is thicker than water. Permanently? You think there's a chance you won't get better? After something like that, do you think about packing it in? Giving it up?" He scrunched his nose up a little, wishing the lights in this room were dimmer when they started to feel like they were drilling into his eyeballs. "I just read somewhere that the sooner you can go off painkillers, the less reliant you get. The body doesn't get used to them." He waited for the guy to finish the water and then went back to sit on his bed. After a couple of moments, he laid back down again. Horizontal was definitely better right now.
"Simon. It's nice to meet you, man. Cheers for the help, I appreciate it." Simon whistled in appreciation. "Impala. Niiiice. I'm very impressed. That's one cool car to get behind the wheel of. A few years back, my sister and me restored a 1967 Pontiac GTO. From scratch. It was barely more than a shell and she picked it up from an old cop buddy. It was awesome, and we got to spend a lot of time together. Ain't anything like quality sibling bonding. We only had about a billion arguments and fights, too. That's her baby now, especially considering I ain't sure if she's ever gonna make me an uncle. Too independent and ballsy to settle down yet. Saw her knee a guy in the balls once for stubbing out a cigarette on her car's hood. But yeah, permanently. It's been too soon to tell how anything's healing much considering I'm stuck in the torture device. They're optimisic, but I prefer to live in reality. I'm a firm believer in living for the moment, though. If this is my lot, it's my lot. It ain't gonna make me get off your case about the pills though, dude. You need to stop reading, that's a load of bullshit right there. You need basic cognitive functioning to heal. The brain's a fucked up place. It stops working when you're in pain. Seriously, man, they wouldn't be giving you the shit if you didn't need it, and no offense, you really look like you need it. What happened to you anyway? You could be on pills for awhile. Just deal with it. Better than trying to put up with it and being two steps from a vegetable barely functioning. If you ain't got full capacity of your body, look after your mind, if you ain't got full capacity of your mind, look after your body."
Sam's forehead creased as he listened to Simon, absorbing his wise words. "You sound like you're close to your sister, even if you do argue. I can get that. I... guess Dean and I are close, sort of. In some way. I mean, it's only us. Our parents are dead, and Dean's pretty much all I've got. He... uh... had to go away, though, and that's why he wasn't here. He didn't know I got hurt. So, I guess we're close, just unconventionally. He's not much of a touchy-feely sort. Doesn't like PDAs, gets awkward when you try to thank him or tell him how much he means to you. Still, it's just us, so we try to look out for each other. I... I don't know what happened to me. I've got amnesia, apparently. Dean says I've lost about three years of my memory..." He cleared his throat. That alone was unnerving for Sam. It just increased the pain in his head whenever he concertedly tried to figure out what was missing from the gaps in his memory. It felt like he was reaching out for something that wasn't there. He also assumed that he was twenty... five now? Not twenty two like he thought. Weird. Damn weird. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. It was too much to process. He did, however, start to get a niggle of guilt in his gut when he thought how Dean might react if he told him he was rejecting pain medication. He had already gotten a disapproving look of Ailbe, and now Simon, an almost complete stranger, was caring enough to ride his ass about it. It was surreal for Sam, to say the least. "So, if you've got permanent damage, you'll just roll with it? I can think of a few people who could use taking a leaf out of your outlook on life. It's not always easy just... rolling with it. Do you have regrets? If someone told you tomorrow that you couldn't drive again, couldn't do the job, how would you feel?"
Simon didn't even hesitate when he answered. "Completely fucking devastated," he admitted, pressing his lips together briefly. "Just because I live with the moment, doesn't mean I ain't human. 'Course I have regrets, not maybe not as many as most who have hang ups about life would. I've done things I'm not proud of. I've made ba choices, but I don't hate myself for it. My work is my life right now. Other than my family and my dog, work is what I live and breathe. It fuels me, gives me a reason to get up in the morning. Without it... well, I ain't sure. Haven't let myself think that far in advance. Taking each day means you don't anticipate too much. It's a waste of energy. Nothing ever goes according to plan anyway. I woke up that morning expecting to wrap my scenes, instead, I was nearly killed. That's life. And life's not something I wanna wake up one day and realise I wasted. You only get one, and you never know when your time will be up. So, I roll with it. Que Sera Sera. Speaking of, you really should let your brother know you're glad his back if you ain't already. Same as our time could be up at any time, so could any of our loved ones. He might not like the PDAs or gets an iggy feeling when someone appreciates him, but you each only got one brother. Hug him enough, he'll soon get over it."
Sam remained quiet and nodded, losing himself in his thoughts. Simon was scarily right, and Sam was starting to wonder if maybe he had been put in a room with him for some sort of higher reason. He didn't often just open up and talk to anyone, and he wasn't sure why Simon seemed easy to be honest with. Even if the honesty was patchy and selective. Everything Sam had said so far had been honest, just censored on some level. He really had missed Dean, but he hadn't outright emphasised the fact because Dean went weird with things like that. But maybe Simon was right? Either way, Sam was painfully happy and relieved to have his big brother back, because he really wasn't sure he could - or wanted to - face this life thing without his protection. Without him, full stop. Dean was the only person in Sam's whole life who had been there forever. "Thanks, dude," he finally mumbled, folding his arms protectively around himself. They fell into silence, but Simon had given Sam a lot of food for thought. He just didn't know what he was supposed to do next.
He wasn't sure if he even knew who he was anymore.
Word Count | 2,459