Nothing Else Matters Part 1
Part 1
“… highway to hell… I'm on the highway to hell… And I'm going down… all the way down…
I'm on the highway to hell.”
Dean banged the final chord before opening his eyes and grinning at his 6 member audience. Ellen smirked at him from behind the bar while Jo and Carmen clapped with their usual gusto. Ash gave a two thumbs-up and winked at him from the pool table. The young couple on a date, who had been ambushed with tonight’s special - AC/DC - continued to ignore him, just like they had the whole evening.
Dean sighed inwards, the cheerful grin never leaving his face, gently placed the battered guitar, worn from years of use, on his lap before wheeling himself down the short ramp, off the stage. Ellen had installed it as soon the doctor had pronounced him fit to go home.
“Hey honey,” Carmen waddled over to him as soon as he was on the flat surface and gave him a quick kiss. “That was good.”
Dean smiled, “You know… one of these days I’m actually gonna convince you to run away with me.”
“I’m ready. Can your drive carry three people?” She asked indicating her very pregnant belly.
Dean laughed genuinely. “Ash won’t mind?” he asked.
“Nah, man… Just take her. It’s better than seeing you two flirting right before my eyes,” Ash replied shielding his eyes in mock horror.
“Serves you right for stealing her from under my nose,” Dean replied half-seriously as Carmen relieved him of his burden before waddling over to her husband to give him a kiss. The kiss turned into a full-blown make-out session that stopped sometime between Ash setting her down on the pool table and Jo whistling and cat-calling. The date-couple was staring at them in horror. Dean laughed.
“Hey Ellen,” he moved to the bar. “One for the road?”
“You sure?” Ellen asked sceptically.
Dean gestured to his wheelchair. “How bad do you think it’s gonna get?” he asked jokingly, hoping she couldn’t catch the despair in his voice. He was an idiot.
She bent over the bar, making sure that Jo, Ash and Carmen were not looking - which thankfully they weren’t - before lowering her voice to a whisper, and asked “Bad day?”
Dean dropped his act, letting his true emotions surface, and sighed wistfully. Ellen nodded and quickly poured a double bourbon. Dean gulped it down in one shot, letting the whiskey slowly burn down his throat and quietly thanked her before turning around, his trademark grin back in place.
Apart from Bobby, his boss at the garage, Ellen was the only he dared to be sad around. He kept even Sam out of the loop these days, because he knew exactly what his loving brother would do. He would come here, pack all of Dean’s stuff in his car and take him back to California with him… which was exactly what Dean didn’t want.
“Hey Jo!” he called. “Wanna walk me to the car?” Jo walked up to him and guided Dean towards the parking lot.
“How’s ma baby?” Dean asked when they were well out of ear shot. Ever since he was stuck with this… thing… it was impossible for him to use his Impala. Bobby had fixed up some van for him - “easier to carry your wheelchair around,” he’d said - but it wasn’t his Baby.
“Well…” Jo stalled. “She misses you.”
Dean smiled. If there was one person in the world who could understand how much the car meant to him, it would be Jo. That is why he had handed the keys to her. Sure, Sam had bitched about it for weeks… for weeks… but Dean was resolute. On his first tour, he’d made the mistake of giving her to Sam… and he’d totally douched her up. Ipod jack!? Kesha!? Dean was pretty sure his Baby had cried blood. At least he didn’t have to worry about that with Jo. Besides, he could see her whenever he wanted… even have Jo take him out on drives if the weather was good enough.
“Tell her I miss her too,” Dean replied.
“I will” and Dean knew she actually would. This was one of the few quirks they shared… they actually talked to their cars. That and their love for REO Speedwagon… though Jo was the only one who knew about that… and of course, he’d threatened to use his ninja skills on her if she told anyone.
Jo waited patiently until Dean had safely manoeuvred himself in the driver’s seat then folded the wheelchair behind him. “You don’t have to do that. I can do it myself, you know,” Dean protested but… “Not when I’m around, you can’t,” Jo cut in matter-of-factly. Dean smiled, “All right, ma’am.” He tipped his invisible hat to her and started the engine. “See ya around, Jo.”
It was just outside the parking lot that he turned on the radio and Traffic’s Dear Mr. Fantasy filled the car. Well, that’s just peachy, he thought. Even the Angels are conspiring against me.
---
The ride home lasted about 10 minutes. Dean parked in his garage and got his wheelchair out. It had taken lots and lots of practice and even more patience, especially on his therapist’s part, before he could manage do it on his own.
The phone rang as soon as he shut the door behind him. “Hey Sam,” he said without even looking at the id. Apart from Bobby and people at the Roadhouse, Sam and Jess were the only ones who had this number.
“Uncle Dean, don’t like rabbit food. I want pie,” a little voice asserted. Dean huffed a laugh.
“Hey babygirl! Give your mum the phone, will you? I’ll set her right.” The phone was handed over to Jessica. Dean could hear his niece smirking. “Why are you feeding my babygirl rabbit food?” he scolded, knowing the phone was on speaker and his niece was listening in.
“I am sorry, Dean…” Jessica replied, knowing the script by heart. “It won’t happen again.”
“Okay. Now give the phone to my babygirl,” he ordered and the phone was handed back to his niece. “Okay sweetheart… listen… mommy is probably tired so why don’t finish your rabbit food and I’ll make sure she gets pie for you tomorrow. Okay?”
Deanna mumbled something incoherent and handed the phone back to her mother. “Thanks Dean,” Jess sighed. “I don’t understand how you are the only one she’ll listen to?”
“You named her after me,” Dean grinned. “What did you expect?”
Jess sighed smilingly. The next 30 minutes were spent in small talk with minor interruptions like “I hate carrots… carrots are good for you… eat your broccoli… broccoli is blah… if you eat you veggies you’ll grow big and strong like Uncle Dean… Uncle Dean has a chair with wheels. I want a chair with wheels…” among other things.
“I’m done Uncle Dean,” Deanna replied triumphantly as Dean heard Jess clean away the dishes. “Okay Dean,” Jess was back for the last time. “I’m taking her for a bath. We’ll call as soon as we’re done, so you can put her to bed.” The call clicked signalling the end of the conversation.
By the time Jess called again, Dean too had prepped for the night. He was sitting on his bed, a torn copy of Slaughterhouse 5 on his lap and his guitar - this one a welcome home gift from Sam and Jess after his first tour - by his side. The phone rang and Dean picked it up on the first ring.
“We’re all set,” Jess said before putting the phone on speaker. Dean turned on his speaker, set the phone beside him and picked up the guitar and started playing Zeppelin’s The Ocean. He finished with “…Now I'm singing all my songs to the girl who won my heart… She is only three years old and it's a real fine way to start.”
He heard his niece sigh sleepily - another reason he loved her… awesome taste in music - and whisper “good night uncle Dean”. “G’night sweetheart,” he replied. Then Jess came back on “Good night Dean”, “G’night Jess,” he replied before clicking the call shut. He didn’t believe in goodbyes.
He looked at the clock on his mantle. It was 9:30 PM. He spent the next 3 hours re-reading his favourite book before dimming the lights and drifting off to a fitful sleep.
***
“Sammy… Sam!”
Dean shouted into the phone and saw the rookie, Max, jump, hitting his head on the bonnet of the Dodge he was working on. “Sorry,” Dean mouthed before continuing with his conversation.
“Sam, how many times do I have to tell you, I am fine?” He didn’t know if it was a good thing or bad that he could actually feel Sam bitch-facing at the phone.
“You are in a wheelchair, Dean. You’re not fine,” Sam replied, oh so tactfully.
“Well then… I’m as fine as a man in a wheelchair can be,” Dean retorted. This conversation was getting on his nerves. “Look Sam,” he continued. “I get it, okay? I get that you are worried about me. But I can take care of myself. I’m a big boy.” He hoped this would be enough to get his brother to lay off of him.
“Fine,” Sam replied, before half-assedly covering the mouth and saying “you ask him.”
Dean waited patiently for Jess to come on the line and start the conversation over, instead… “Uncle Dean, when are you coming?”
Low blow, Sam, Dean thought, before saying “Hey babe, I have some work problems. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Okay?”
“Okay,” Deanna replied. “Come soon.”
“And tell your dad that he is a word you are too young to know for doing this.” He waited patiently for her to convey the message to her dad. It was amazing how well his almost four year old niece parroted his messages.
He heard a soft guffaw before Sam was back on the line with, “Jerk! You are corrupting my daughter.”
“It’s your fault, bitch. You handed her the phone,” Dean replied.
“So you’re coming, right?” Sam asked again… his childlike enthusiasm back.
Dean sighed. It had been almost a year since he had met his only family… the last time being Christmas, when they had visited him. Now, with Deanna and Jess’ schools and Sam’s odd office hours it was practically impossible for them to travel all the way out to Sioux Falls. So, they wanted Dean to come visit them. Dean hated the idea of travelling alone, especially given his special dislike for airplanes, but it had been too long since he’d seen his niece. Phone calls and Skype can only do so much, nothing beats the real deal. “Okay,” he replied. “But I’m not promising anything.”
“That’s awesome!” Sam glee’d. “I also have a vacation due… maybe we can go on road trip. You used to love those, remember…”
‘Used’ being the keyword, Dean thought. Though he still held road trips in extremely high regard, the prospect of being stuck in a vehicle that was not Impala for more than 30 minutes and the hardships of being “that guy in a wheelchair” was not something he looked forward to. Not to mention why anyone would want to go on road trips with him anymore was beyond his understanding. He was slow and crabby and screamed himself awake every night. He wasn’t exactly an ideal road-trip material. But he kept it all to himself and listened to Sam excitedly plan a family vacation.
---
“Hey Max,” Dean called on his way out.
Max, a really twitchy kid with history of abuse as long as Dean’s leg, looked up from his usual spot on the floor. For some reason, he always sat in the corner behind Bobby’s old truck for lunch. Dean’s heart went out to the kid. “Ye…yeah?” he stammered.
“Tell Bobby, I’m going to Ellen’s.”
“Ok…kay,” Max stammered.
Dean turned and wheeled himself out the door. “You’re not gonna take the car?” Max asked behind him. Dean stopped. “The weather’s too nice. I’d rather walk.” He mentally cringed as soon as the words escaped his mouth. He knew the guy was looking at his back in sympathy. It was a look he hated. He took a deep breath and wheeled himself down the ramp. Like Ellen, Bobby too had made sure all the exits of his garage were wheelchair friendly.
Dean stepped onto the footpath and wheeled himself in direction of the Roadhouse. The Roadhouse was only two blocks away. Normally, Dean would have taken the car, but today he was in no condition to drive. The nightmare last night had been one of the worst ones. He could practically smell the rotting flesh and blood, and those white white eyes staring at him in evil glee. He had no intention of getting up, let alone going to work, but he still had appearances to keep.
“It not funny,” Sam would say. But it was. It was damn funny. How ironic that Dean Winchester, the fighter, the solider, the eternal jock, the one who had played football, baseball, soccer, lacrosse, hiked and drove and enjoyed an active extremely social life and generally took his legs for granted more than any other man he’d met, was stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. But he didn’t complain. He had people who loved him, who worried about him - even if that made him uncomfortable - who really cared for him and he wasn’t so selfish that he couldn’t see how much his being depressed all the time hurt them.
So he put up appearances. Went to work, went to the bar, flirted with girls and let guys buy him drinks, sang for Deanna, talked to Sam and Jess and gave them parenting advice… mostly because he’d practically raised that giant of his brother and knew him better than anyone in the world and by extension his daughter too. But sometimes, he just couldn’t do it anymore. Sometimes, he wanted nothing more than to strap into his van and drive off the pier. But he kept fighting. For Sam and Jess and Deanna and all the people who loved him. And today was one of those days.
He was just outside the Roadhouse when he heard it. A low voice… rough and gravelly… accompanied by the guitar.
“Tell everybody I’m on my way… new friends and places to see. With blue skies ahead, yes I’m on way… there’s nowhere else that I’d rather be…”
Dean stopped short. He knew the voice… some nights it was the only thing that got him through all his nightmares… a safe anchor that gave him the strength to fight...a “Home”.
---
Somewhere in Iraq, almost 4 years ago
Dean slowly moved his head to the side and cracked his eye open. The dark and the blood made it impossible to see but he could sense that he was still on the rack and he was alone. He couldn’t believe that that motherfucker Alistair had left him alone mid-torture. Maybe it was worse than he thought. Maybe he was just hallucinating and the searing pain would soon jolt him back to reality.
Major Dean “Blood Hound” Winchester, US Special Forces, had been on Alistair’s track for the better part of the War. Alistair McAllister, aka Ali Sayed Hussain… aka Alfred Edwards… aka Albert Reynolds, was a sadist mercenary who called himself a “Freelance Artist specializing in persuasion and information extraction”. He and his partner, known only as ‘Yellow Eyes’, had been active for more than 30 years, but their artwork on American soldiers in Iraq was what had led Dean on their trail. He was this close to closing in on them when Bela Talbot, one of his best assets and someone he trusted with his life, had betrayed him and handed his team to Alistair on a plate. A part of Dean was grateful that everyone else, including Bela, was dead… at least they weren’t suffering anymore.
But Dean was kept alive because Alistair claimed Dean was his masterpiece. So every morning he got down to work carving and slicing until Dean passed out… then waited until he was awake before starting over. Meanwhile ‘Yellow Eyes’ tended to his wounds and gave him blood. Maybe he had some misguided sense of righteousness… maybe it was a part of torture Dean didn’t know. Sometimes they gave him food… sometimes they didn’t… but the blood was always there.
Dean had no idea how long he was in the captivity… could be weeks, could be years. And the only time they left him alone was at night, when he was trussed in his cell, covered in his own filth. That is how Dean knew this wasn’t real. But he didn’t care... not anymore. He’d finally lost his will to fight… to live. He hadn’t been able to feel his legs for the past few days. He’d even stopped fighting the blood. He was just waiting for the day the Alistair got bored of him and allowed him to die.
Just then he saw a thin ray of light. This is it, his half-dead brain told him. Alistair had won… the Angels had lost. He waited for the torture to commence when… “Major Dean Winchester?” the voice was low, soothing… calm. A sense of peace pervaded him. He nodded slightly. He was already dead, what had he to lose?
A sharp intake, then searing pain shot through his body as something held his shoulder down and cut his wrist straps. “I am Lieutenant James Novak, United States Marines. We’ve come to take you home.”
“Home…” Dean repeated as the hands moved down his torso. “My legs,” he remembered. “I can’t feel my legs.” Those were his last words before he succumbed to exhaustion.
[Continued]