THE FAMILY BUSINESS: Saving People, Hunting Things | Chapter Two
Genre: Pre-series, Injury Recovery, Humor
Cast: Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ash, Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Rufus Turner, others
Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,582 (this chapter) | Chapters: 6 | WIP
Story Art: By author unless noted otherwise.
Copyright Disclaimers: That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.
MASTERPOST - LJ | On AO3
Ten days later Dean shook off the sterility of Sanford Med Center and took up residence in Bobby’s back guest room. It was going to be a long recovery. The patch was off the eye and it was a little light sensitive, but he could see out of it just fine. He counted himself lucky. His hands were still a mess and still bandaged, but not as thickly as before. IF he was lucky then there wouldn’t be scaring that was too bad, mostly on his palm side.
The next twenty-five days were a nightmare of a different kind.
The concept of sleeping comfortably was a thing of the past. Casts and itchy sutures were a new experience in Hell. Keeping the one leg out straight, well that sucked too and kept him stuck either in the bed or on Bobby’s sofa. And it sucked that he couldn’t do for himself. Hell, he couldn’t even take a pee without help or had to use that little vessel thing which sucked too. He shuddered just thinking about it.
On the forty-second day from the time he woke up, the cast came off his left leg. The suture lines were well healed on his right except in a few spots. The physical therapy had started and that was a new form of torture. And he could use the wheelchair now and that was tricky. He hated it. Mostly because he still couldn’t take a pee without help and that just really sucked. He let out a long sigh.
“You feelin’ sorry for yourself, son?”
Dean looked over at the doorway. Rufus Turner leaned against the jamb filling the space with his body and his presence.
“Mr. Turner, hey,” Dean grinned, “it’s good to see ya.” He was dressed and sitting on top of the bed. The morning’s therapy had worn him out a bit. Another thing he wasn’t used to. Being tired. He shook his head, “Nah, tired.”
Rufus nodded as he came into the room and folded himself into the desk chair that was beside the window, “Physio will do that. Plus, you been layin’ about for more than a month.”
Dean grinned, “I know! I’m such a lazy ass!”
Rufus’ chuckle filled the room. But he leaned toward the younger man, “Bobby says you’re doing good now.”
Dean nodded, “Yeah. I am.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, “I know I’m gonna be good. But Bobby’s been so worried. And he’s been so great and I …”
“You what?” Rufus questioned, “Dean. This is what friends do. WE take care of each other.”
Dean nodded.
“Now,” Rufus leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, “what are we gonna do about you huntin’ on your own, hmm?”
Dean’s eyes snapped but he drew his flare of annoyance back, “What else am I gonna do…
“Oh, no no no,” Ash ambled through the doorway, “Mr. Turner, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His usual relaxed posture drawn up in an attempt to be as intimidating as his slim stoner body could muster, “You are harshin’ my man’s mellow, casting a pall on the patient. WE must have only sunshine and light!”
“A pall,” Rufus struggled to keep from laughing, “a pall.”
“Yes,” Ash shot back, “a pall. A dark cloud, like the cloth over the hearse you are causing dreariness in this room. I cannot have that.”
Dean swallowed the chuckle that was threatening to burst from him at any second. Ash had become Dean’s self-appointed happy counselor. He wondered how stoned he had to be at this hour. It was nice that his misery made Ash so happy.
Rufus finally let out a chortle of laughter, “I’m gonna visit with Bobby. We gotta research a hunt.”
“Good,” Ash swept his hand toward the door, “you know the way.” Rufus waved him off and gave the ‘hi’ sign to Dean, “I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t forget to bring the sunshine and light,” Dean called out to him still trying not to laugh. Ash looked at him accusingly.
“You mock me?”
Dean shook his head and adopted his most serious expression, “Never. No mocking. Not me. Nope.”
“YOU Mock me!”
“Listen Nurse Ratched, I gotta pee.”
“Want some help with that?”
“Not really,” Dean snorted, “just, can you bring the chair, I want to try on my own.”
Ash rolled the chair to the side of the bed, “I’ll hold it.” Ash became as focused on Dean’s movements as he was when he was hacking a credit card. “Just, go easy.”
The chair was armless at Dean’s request, although arms could be reattached. They were right there behind the door. He just thought it be easier to get in and out of it. He was hoping it wouldn’t be for that long.
Settling in he let Ash push him into the bathroom which had been enlarged when Bobby’s wife took sick. Ash slid the pocket door closed and waited outside. It took a while but about eight minutes later, Dean called out that he was done.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Dean wasn’t used to downtime of any length, so he was itchy for activity. He helped Bobby and Rufus research the case that Rufus was going out on with a new hunter. Ash stuck around for most of the day and left shortly after dinner.
The next day, Ash bounded into the kitchen just in time for breakfast. Dean was already pulled up to the battered, scarred and well used table that served as the main eating place in Bobby’s house.
“Hey, don’t Ellen and Jo feed you,” Bobby groused as he plated eggs and bacon up for him and Dean and turned to make fresh batch for himself.
“I’m a growing boy,” Ash bit into a piece of bacon, “at least I’m still hopeful.”
Dean chuckled as he took in Ash’s very lean frame and diminutive stature. “Your body ain’t growing, but you gotta feed those brain cells.”
“DUDE!” Ash flashed him a smile, “You are so right! And on that score, my little gray cells were working overtime last night. I’ve had a blinding stroke of genius!”
“I’m happy for you,” Dean said around a mouthful of bacon and eggs. “Try not to hurt yourself.”
Ash snorted loudly, “Dude! That is so cold!”
“Okay,” Bobby sat down across from Dean, “what is this stroke of genius you’re about to bust a gut over?” He took a slurp of coffee as he waited for Ash to empty his chipmunk cheeks full of breakfast.
Finally washing everything down with a swallow of OJ, Ash leaned back in his chair with his arms stretched to the table. He ran his hands over it as if caressing a fine marble, “I think you should train hunters.” He looked at Dean and dared him to object.
Dean opened and closed his mouth a few time, looking vaguely like a guppy taking in air, “Say what?”
“Here me out,” Ash shifted in the chair, “You’re good at this, Dean, your present physical condition notwithstanding. But, and I think, again, your present condition attests to this, that it’s very dangerous to hunt alone.”
Dean sucked in a breath that expanded his chest to the point where it hurt but gave Ash a nod. He can picture himself lying dead in a pool of his own blood on the side of the road if he’d not had that matchbook from the Roadhouse with Ellen’s number scribbled inside it. But for her, he’d be gone.
“So,” Ash continued with even more animation than was strictly usual for the hacker, “here’s the thing. There’re always gonna be monsters. Ghost, ghouls, what haveyou. And there aren’t enough hunters, plus no one gets paid for doing this shit job. I say, we, well, you really, change the status quo.”
Dean snorted deep in his throat. “You want me to change…jeeze, Ash! How much you smoke before you got here?”
“Duuude! You malign me!”
Bobby gave a snort similar to Dean’s as he stood and took the plates from the table, “You are somethin’ else, kid.”
“And, again, with the maligning,” Ash protested and hitched up his chair, “Dean. Listen. This could really work, man. You’re smart about this stuff. You know your shit. I’ll bet there are other guys, girls even that want to fight the good fight. And I think we could get some dough out of it too. You could have a life, man. Not have to scam credit cards to eat, ya know.”
Dean let out a long sigh, “As nice as that could sound, Ash, it’s a fantasy.”
“Why?”
Dean looked at him and an aborted laugh stuck in his throat, “Seriously? Ash, c’mon! You think people, towns, mayors really want to know that they’ve got the big bad in their town? You think anyone would believe us that,” he waved his hands in the air, “the supernatural plane exists? That ghosties and goblins really exist?”
He took the mug of coffee Bobby handed him with a quirked brow that the man wasn’t joining in his protest. “You agree with me right, Bobby?”
Bobby took a slow sip of his coffee.
“Bobby?”
Dean’s green eyes flashed with disbelief and then narrowed as he looked at the older man. “Seriously?” He shook his head as he looked back at Ash, “What are you suggesting? We print up business cards, We Kill Monsters?”
“Not exactly.”
.
.
.
Cast: Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ash, Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Rufus Turner, others
Rating: Teen and Up | Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,582 (this chapter) | Chapters: 6 | WIP
Story Art: By author unless noted otherwise.
Copyright Disclaimers: That all characters are the property of Warner Bros. Television, CW Network LLC, Wonderland Sound and Vision, and Eric Kripke is fully acknowledged. No copyright infringement intended. Character names are merely borrowed for fun. I do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story which you may recognize. The canon characters of the series, Supernatural, are out of their series character and I cite Section 107 of the US Copyright Clause on 'Fair Use'. This is, in majority, a transformative work, solely enjoyed by a specific audience and no profit is realized. Original characters and/or characterizations, story concepts and plot are the property of the author publishing as Dickensgal31.
MASTERPOST - LJ | On AO3
Ten days later Dean shook off the sterility of Sanford Med Center and took up residence in Bobby’s back guest room. It was going to be a long recovery. The patch was off the eye and it was a little light sensitive, but he could see out of it just fine. He counted himself lucky. His hands were still a mess and still bandaged, but not as thickly as before. IF he was lucky then there wouldn’t be scaring that was too bad, mostly on his palm side.
The next twenty-five days were a nightmare of a different kind.
The concept of sleeping comfortably was a thing of the past. Casts and itchy sutures were a new experience in Hell. Keeping the one leg out straight, well that sucked too and kept him stuck either in the bed or on Bobby’s sofa. And it sucked that he couldn’t do for himself. Hell, he couldn’t even take a pee without help or had to use that little vessel thing which sucked too. He shuddered just thinking about it.
On the forty-second day from the time he woke up, the cast came off his left leg. The suture lines were well healed on his right except in a few spots. The physical therapy had started and that was a new form of torture. And he could use the wheelchair now and that was tricky. He hated it. Mostly because he still couldn’t take a pee without help and that just really sucked. He let out a long sigh.
“You feelin’ sorry for yourself, son?”
Dean looked over at the doorway. Rufus Turner leaned against the jamb filling the space with his body and his presence.
“Mr. Turner, hey,” Dean grinned, “it’s good to see ya.” He was dressed and sitting on top of the bed. The morning’s therapy had worn him out a bit. Another thing he wasn’t used to. Being tired. He shook his head, “Nah, tired.”
Rufus nodded as he came into the room and folded himself into the desk chair that was beside the window, “Physio will do that. Plus, you been layin’ about for more than a month.”
Dean grinned, “I know! I’m such a lazy ass!”
Rufus’ chuckle filled the room. But he leaned toward the younger man, “Bobby says you’re doing good now.”
Dean nodded, “Yeah. I am.” He scrubbed his hands over his face, “I know I’m gonna be good. But Bobby’s been so worried. And he’s been so great and I …”
“You what?” Rufus questioned, “Dean. This is what friends do. WE take care of each other.”
Dean nodded.
“Now,” Rufus leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, “what are we gonna do about you huntin’ on your own, hmm?”
Dean’s eyes snapped but he drew his flare of annoyance back, “What else am I gonna do…
“Oh, no no no,” Ash ambled through the doorway, “Mr. Turner, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His usual relaxed posture drawn up in an attempt to be as intimidating as his slim stoner body could muster, “You are harshin’ my man’s mellow, casting a pall on the patient. WE must have only sunshine and light!”
“A pall,” Rufus struggled to keep from laughing, “a pall.”
“Yes,” Ash shot back, “a pall. A dark cloud, like the cloth over the hearse you are causing dreariness in this room. I cannot have that.”
Dean swallowed the chuckle that was threatening to burst from him at any second. Ash had become Dean’s self-appointed happy counselor. He wondered how stoned he had to be at this hour. It was nice that his misery made Ash so happy.
Rufus finally let out a chortle of laughter, “I’m gonna visit with Bobby. We gotta research a hunt.”
“Good,” Ash swept his hand toward the door, “you know the way.” Rufus waved him off and gave the ‘hi’ sign to Dean, “I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t forget to bring the sunshine and light,” Dean called out to him still trying not to laugh. Ash looked at him accusingly.
“You mock me?”
Dean shook his head and adopted his most serious expression, “Never. No mocking. Not me. Nope.”
“YOU Mock me!”
“Listen Nurse Ratched, I gotta pee.”
“Want some help with that?”
“Not really,” Dean snorted, “just, can you bring the chair, I want to try on my own.”
Ash rolled the chair to the side of the bed, “I’ll hold it.” Ash became as focused on Dean’s movements as he was when he was hacking a credit card. “Just, go easy.”
The chair was armless at Dean’s request, although arms could be reattached. They were right there behind the door. He just thought it be easier to get in and out of it. He was hoping it wouldn’t be for that long.
Settling in he let Ash push him into the bathroom which had been enlarged when Bobby’s wife took sick. Ash slid the pocket door closed and waited outside. It took a while but about eight minutes later, Dean called out that he was done.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Dean wasn’t used to downtime of any length, so he was itchy for activity. He helped Bobby and Rufus research the case that Rufus was going out on with a new hunter. Ash stuck around for most of the day and left shortly after dinner.
The next day, Ash bounded into the kitchen just in time for breakfast. Dean was already pulled up to the battered, scarred and well used table that served as the main eating place in Bobby’s house.
“Hey, don’t Ellen and Jo feed you,” Bobby groused as he plated eggs and bacon up for him and Dean and turned to make fresh batch for himself.
“I’m a growing boy,” Ash bit into a piece of bacon, “at least I’m still hopeful.”
Dean chuckled as he took in Ash’s very lean frame and diminutive stature. “Your body ain’t growing, but you gotta feed those brain cells.”
“DUDE!” Ash flashed him a smile, “You are so right! And on that score, my little gray cells were working overtime last night. I’ve had a blinding stroke of genius!”
“I’m happy for you,” Dean said around a mouthful of bacon and eggs. “Try not to hurt yourself.”
Ash snorted loudly, “Dude! That is so cold!”
“Okay,” Bobby sat down across from Dean, “what is this stroke of genius you’re about to bust a gut over?” He took a slurp of coffee as he waited for Ash to empty his chipmunk cheeks full of breakfast.
Finally washing everything down with a swallow of OJ, Ash leaned back in his chair with his arms stretched to the table. He ran his hands over it as if caressing a fine marble, “I think you should train hunters.” He looked at Dean and dared him to object.
Dean opened and closed his mouth a few time, looking vaguely like a guppy taking in air, “Say what?”
“Here me out,” Ash shifted in the chair, “You’re good at this, Dean, your present physical condition notwithstanding. But, and I think, again, your present condition attests to this, that it’s very dangerous to hunt alone.”
Dean sucked in a breath that expanded his chest to the point where it hurt but gave Ash a nod. He can picture himself lying dead in a pool of his own blood on the side of the road if he’d not had that matchbook from the Roadhouse with Ellen’s number scribbled inside it. But for her, he’d be gone.
“So,” Ash continued with even more animation than was strictly usual for the hacker, “here’s the thing. There’re always gonna be monsters. Ghost, ghouls, what haveyou. And there aren’t enough hunters, plus no one gets paid for doing this shit job. I say, we, well, you really, change the status quo.”
Dean snorted deep in his throat. “You want me to change…jeeze, Ash! How much you smoke before you got here?”
“Duuude! You malign me!”
Bobby gave a snort similar to Dean’s as he stood and took the plates from the table, “You are somethin’ else, kid.”
“And, again, with the maligning,” Ash protested and hitched up his chair, “Dean. Listen. This could really work, man. You’re smart about this stuff. You know your shit. I’ll bet there are other guys, girls even that want to fight the good fight. And I think we could get some dough out of it too. You could have a life, man. Not have to scam credit cards to eat, ya know.”
Dean let out a long sigh, “As nice as that could sound, Ash, it’s a fantasy.”
“Why?”
Dean looked at him and an aborted laugh stuck in his throat, “Seriously? Ash, c’mon! You think people, towns, mayors really want to know that they’ve got the big bad in their town? You think anyone would believe us that,” he waved his hands in the air, “the supernatural plane exists? That ghosties and goblins really exist?”
He took the mug of coffee Bobby handed him with a quirked brow that the man wasn’t joining in his protest. “You agree with me right, Bobby?”
Bobby took a slow sip of his coffee.
“Bobby?”
Dean’s green eyes flashed with disbelief and then narrowed as he looked at the older man. “Seriously?” He shook his head as he looked back at Ash, “What are you suggesting? We print up business cards, We Kill Monsters?”
“Not exactly.”
.
.
.