Perfect Match

Chapter 18

XXXX

"Alright, Stefan. I'm going to let go of your hand now. All that I want you to do is continue to clutch the pen without my help. Okay?" Marie, the physical therapist, eyed Stefan anxiously. She was clearly pleased when his green eyes flared with devotion and he nodded, and Damon nodded confidently from the hall. "Concentrate."

Marie tucked her thick, white hair behind her ear with her left hand, and gradually released Stefan's with her right. Almost smiling, Damon watched hopefully as he held the pen tightly, so much that his knuckles turned white.

"Come on, baby bro." His lips curled up. Good. Maybe his brother was more like him than he thought; he was a Salvatore after all, and Salvatores never gave up easily. At this point, Stefan had been in the hospital for about a week -in physical therapy for about four days- so that they could keep a close watch on his heart rate.

"Fantastic," Marie said. "Now, very slowly... I want you to let go. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes," Stefan answered hesitantly, his brows furrowed in concentration. The little gold pen in his fist stood up straight and Damon nervously waited to see if he would be able to let go. Letting out a relieved breath, he smirked when he saw his little brother's hand gradually letting go. Millimeter by little millimeter, Stefan had complete control of what his hand was doing.

But then, just when the pen was ready to completely drop to the table under his control, Stefan's fingers twitched and it landed on the ground with a deafeningly silent clink. Damon's mouth fell into a straight line. He watched as his brother had what seemed like the seventh mini-breakdown of the session, which mainly consisted of Stefan hitting the table with his left fist and cursing under his breath.
Damon sighed and his gaze briefly locked on Marie's. Giving a quick consoling grin to him, she nodded and looked back to Stefan. "That was good, Stefan. There's no need to beat yourself up," she promised warmly. "Your hand will be working again in no time. I think that's enough for today. Great work today, son. You made great progress."

Stefan kept his gaze down on the floor where his pen had dropped. "Not enough, clearly," he answered seriously, and Damon knew that tone, that familiar, annoying tone that only signified one thing: his Stefan was being way too hard on himself- as usual.

"Hey, kiddo," Marie cooed, placing a hand on Stefan's tense shoulder. "You can't fix everything in one day. It takes time. You're doing great. Now give yourself a break... You deserve it. I'll see you Thursday, alright?"

Stefan smiled just a bit; Marie reminded him of the cool grandma in those Disney Channel movies he watched when he was a kid. "Okay."

As soon as Stefan pushed against the arms of the chair to stand up, Damon -almost on instinct at this point- rushed over to give him a hand. "What the hell happened to your wheel chair?" he asked when Stefan winced and tried to clutch his stomach.

"I don't need it."

Damon rolled his eyes. "You don't need it? Then why are you over here moaning like a dog that just got hit by a car just because you're standing up? Oh yeah! Because you did get hit by a car and you're too damn stubborn to admit you need any help!"

Stefan shot him a glare. "I did not get hit by a car."

"Just about," he quipped back. "Okay, broody, let's just get you to the room in one piece."

Saying nothing else, the youngest Salvatore agreed and leaned against his older brother for support. Almost the second he collapsed on his thin hospital bed, Stefan reached to unbutton his hospital gown, trailing his fingers limply around the corner of the medical tape on his torso. He let out a groan of aggravation as he stared down at the white gauze over his burning stomach; he knew he was healing from surgery still, but in a way, he felt as if he was still being cut open.