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beansideTitle: Upon My Liar's Chair
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.
It wasn't that he hated all doctors. Just the ones who were examining him. Okay, maybe most doctors. He'd liked his pediatrician, once upon a time. Maybe it would help if the neurosurgeon had a fire-engine exam table.
Probably not.
The doctor, a small coffee skinned woman, pointed to the metal pins in his spine with a smile. “Everything seems to have healed well.”
Except that pesky spinal cord, Jensen thought. “I'm still having pain and spasms.”
“I'm not surprised. Most partial injuries have some amount of discomfort, and random nerve firings.”
“I didn't say that I had discomfort. I said I had pain. There's a difference,” Jensen spat.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I understand that you're angry right now, Mr. Ackles-” she began.
“No shit! I can't fucking walk! How am I supposed to fucking feel?”
“Please lower your voice. As I was saying, I understand that you're angry, but, you're going to have to work on accepting that things have changed. Even if you get some feeling and motion back, it's unlikely that you'll ever be where you were before the accident.” She shuffled through the chart. “You can get dressed, and I'll come back in. I think it's time to discuss further accommodations.”
She left, and Jensen struggled into his jeans, silently swearing. 'Further accommodations.' Great. More things to brand him as a crip.
Fuck.
The doctor came back in, holding a sheaf of papers. She sat behind her desk and eyed him like he was going to go off for a moment, then slid a catalogue across her desk. “The wheelchair that you're using is one of the standard type. I think you might want to consider customization.”
“Yeah. Any of them going to customize me to walk?”
“No. However, since it's important to you, it's possible that you could use full leg braces and walk. It would depend on whether you can regain any control of your hip and thigh muscles.”
Jensen leaned forward. “Really?”
“I think it's a possibility. But in the meantime, you need to make some decisions based on what you have now. These are the kind of chairs I suggest for someone with your activity level.”
He studied the chairs, half-listening to her drone on about their features. “What about a car?” he blurted. “With y'know, hand controls or whatever.” At least then, he could get out if Jeff was being a douche.
Not that Jeff was going to be staying long. Which was good. He wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted...
Yeah. He wanted. Jeff being there was a constant reminder of the things he wanted and couldn't have. All the things he'd lost.
But if he could walk, maybe.
He poked a finger at one of the chairs. “That one.”
“Good choice,” she murmured. “Was that in pink or lilac?”
“What? He looked again and realized that he'd just picked a women's chair. “Oh. Um. Which one would you suggest?”
She smiled gently at him, understanding. He wanted to punch her in the face. “How about this one? It has good stability and the tires are big enough that it can handle most terrain, which will be helpful if you go back to Supernatural. Plus, it's durable.”
Jensen nodded, fighting back the surge of bile at the back of his throat. Supernatural. Yeah. Dean would be awesome fighting ghosts in his wheelchair. Fuck.
“Okay, I think you're done here. I'm writing a new PT prescription, and I'd like to see you back in a month, sooner if you have any problems.”
Jensen nodded. “Thank you,” he forced out. “I appreciate it.”
Funny how the words felt like sawdust on his tongue.
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Thankfully, this didn't happen. I don't know them, I don't know what they do in their spare time, but I doubt it's any of this.
A/N: Much love to my wife for doing the quick once over. Sweet Charity fic, for avid_slacker.
Warning: Character injury, permanent disability.
It wasn't that he hated all doctors. Just the ones who were examining him. Okay, maybe most doctors. He'd liked his pediatrician, once upon a time. Maybe it would help if the neurosurgeon had a fire-engine exam table.
Probably not.
The doctor, a small coffee skinned woman, pointed to the metal pins in his spine with a smile. “Everything seems to have healed well.”
Except that pesky spinal cord, Jensen thought. “I'm still having pain and spasms.”
“I'm not surprised. Most partial injuries have some amount of discomfort, and random nerve firings.”
“I didn't say that I had discomfort. I said I had pain. There's a difference,” Jensen spat.
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I understand that you're angry right now, Mr. Ackles-” she began.
“No shit! I can't fucking walk! How am I supposed to fucking feel?”
“Please lower your voice. As I was saying, I understand that you're angry, but, you're going to have to work on accepting that things have changed. Even if you get some feeling and motion back, it's unlikely that you'll ever be where you were before the accident.” She shuffled through the chart. “You can get dressed, and I'll come back in. I think it's time to discuss further accommodations.”
She left, and Jensen struggled into his jeans, silently swearing. 'Further accommodations.' Great. More things to brand him as a crip.
Fuck.
The doctor came back in, holding a sheaf of papers. She sat behind her desk and eyed him like he was going to go off for a moment, then slid a catalogue across her desk. “The wheelchair that you're using is one of the standard type. I think you might want to consider customization.”
“Yeah. Any of them going to customize me to walk?”
“No. However, since it's important to you, it's possible that you could use full leg braces and walk. It would depend on whether you can regain any control of your hip and thigh muscles.”
Jensen leaned forward. “Really?”
“I think it's a possibility. But in the meantime, you need to make some decisions based on what you have now. These are the kind of chairs I suggest for someone with your activity level.”
He studied the chairs, half-listening to her drone on about their features. “What about a car?” he blurted. “With y'know, hand controls or whatever.” At least then, he could get out if Jeff was being a douche.
Not that Jeff was going to be staying long. Which was good. He wanted some peace and quiet. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted...
Yeah. He wanted. Jeff being there was a constant reminder of the things he wanted and couldn't have. All the things he'd lost.
But if he could walk, maybe.
He poked a finger at one of the chairs. “That one.”
“Good choice,” she murmured. “Was that in pink or lilac?”
“What? He looked again and realized that he'd just picked a women's chair. “Oh. Um. Which one would you suggest?”
She smiled gently at him, understanding. He wanted to punch her in the face. “How about this one? It has good stability and the tires are big enough that it can handle most terrain, which will be helpful if you go back to Supernatural. Plus, it's durable.”
Jensen nodded, fighting back the surge of bile at the back of his throat. Supernatural. Yeah. Dean would be awesome fighting ghosts in his wheelchair. Fuck.
“Okay, I think you're done here. I'm writing a new PT prescription, and I'd like to see you back in a month, sooner if you have any problems.”
Jensen nodded. “Thank you,” he forced out. “I appreciate it.”
Funny how the words felt like sawdust on his tongue.
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