Daily routine
Dean's routines are just a little different since that creek near Lamar.
Sequel to Line of Demarcation.
Every night, Dean brushes his teeth. Dad was always compulsive about dental hygiene. He checks all the weapons, cleans them if they've been used today.
Then, while Sam is showering, he pulls off his boots and inspects his feet. None of the nerves below his ankles work right, and even though his feet seem to hurt all the time, he doesn't always know it when they're actually injured.
He sits down on the bed, facing toward the wall, and unlaces his hiking boots. Over the months since the Creek Incident, his feet have recovered a bit and he can wear normal shoes as long as they fit properly. He sets them down by the bed and pulls out the insoles so they can air overnight, the left with its custom filler that fits into what's left of his toes like a jigsaw piece in its slot. If the FBI ever figured out he wore it, he'd never be able to buy a new one.
He checks the inside of each shoe for pebbles or sharp objects, then leaves the shoes open next to the heater overnight. The feet must stay dry, they told him, and if he doesn't always follow that as strictly as he might in the heat of a hunt, at least he can start the day with dry feet. He pulls off the soft seamless socks designed to keep his feet warm and dry without constricting circulation and places them directly in the laundry. They can't afford to replace these things if he loses a pair to carelessness.
Feet now bare in the empty room, he places the right foot on his left knee and inspects it carefully. The toenails don't need trimming and the one that dropped off after it froze has grown back about halfway. The scrape on his heel from last week is healing cleanly and there are no new wounds. The weird scarlike things from the frostbite blisters are fading slowly, and as he taps the sole and squeezes his toes, the sensations seem a little more normal than they did even last night.
Or so he always hopes.
Next, the left foot. Most of the foot seems healthy, so he inspects the toe stumps, the amputation sites. The amputation was well done, Dean knows, the suture marks placed more precisely than he's ever managed.
As he was warned, he's developed some bizzare calluses on his fourth toe, and on what remains of his first and third. Once, he let the stump of his first toe blister up. Only once.
Dean reaches into the duffel and pulls out his lotion. Gently massages it over the entire foot, starting from the heel and moving up. The skin will crack and bleed, now, if he forgets.
Finally finished, he puts the tools away, gets under the blankets, and turns on the TV.
The shower noises stopped a while ago, but Sam never leaves the bathroom until he knows Dean is ready.
Read a case-fic sequel, The Willow Tree.
Sequel to Line of Demarcation.
Every night, Dean brushes his teeth. Dad was always compulsive about dental hygiene. He checks all the weapons, cleans them if they've been used today.
Then, while Sam is showering, he pulls off his boots and inspects his feet. None of the nerves below his ankles work right, and even though his feet seem to hurt all the time, he doesn't always know it when they're actually injured.
He sits down on the bed, facing toward the wall, and unlaces his hiking boots. Over the months since the Creek Incident, his feet have recovered a bit and he can wear normal shoes as long as they fit properly. He sets them down by the bed and pulls out the insoles so they can air overnight, the left with its custom filler that fits into what's left of his toes like a jigsaw piece in its slot. If the FBI ever figured out he wore it, he'd never be able to buy a new one.
He checks the inside of each shoe for pebbles or sharp objects, then leaves the shoes open next to the heater overnight. The feet must stay dry, they told him, and if he doesn't always follow that as strictly as he might in the heat of a hunt, at least he can start the day with dry feet. He pulls off the soft seamless socks designed to keep his feet warm and dry without constricting circulation and places them directly in the laundry. They can't afford to replace these things if he loses a pair to carelessness.
Feet now bare in the empty room, he places the right foot on his left knee and inspects it carefully. The toenails don't need trimming and the one that dropped off after it froze has grown back about halfway. The scrape on his heel from last week is healing cleanly and there are no new wounds. The weird scarlike things from the frostbite blisters are fading slowly, and as he taps the sole and squeezes his toes, the sensations seem a little more normal than they did even last night.
Or so he always hopes.
Next, the left foot. Most of the foot seems healthy, so he inspects the toe stumps, the amputation sites. The amputation was well done, Dean knows, the suture marks placed more precisely than he's ever managed.
As he was warned, he's developed some bizzare calluses on his fourth toe, and on what remains of his first and third. Once, he let the stump of his first toe blister up. Only once.
Dean reaches into the duffel and pulls out his lotion. Gently massages it over the entire foot, starting from the heel and moving up. The skin will crack and bleed, now, if he forgets.
Finally finished, he puts the tools away, gets under the blankets, and turns on the TV.
The shower noises stopped a while ago, but Sam never leaves the bathroom until he knows Dean is ready.
Read a case-fic sequel, The Willow Tree.