Adjusting (four bedrooms and a back yard).
Blind! Dean 'verse. Other stories and reading order can be found in my profile. Enjoy, and please leave a review.
"Dude," said Dean, "you're out of your mind." Sitting in the chair near the window, Dean tilted his head so he could get that small glimpse of light from his left eye. It was the only remnant of his sight, and he cherished it.
"It's the only nice place I could fine in such short notice," replied Sam.
A nice place. Winchesters didn't do nice places. They did crappy motels and cheap apartments, and never stayed too long.
"It's a waste of money, that's all I'm sayin'," insisted Dean. "I mean, four bedrooms? Are we opening our own motel?"
"That will be a very small motel," observed Sam, unfazed. "Unless you want the guests to camp at the back yard."
"Sam," Dean tried again, "we don't need a back yard. Just like we don't need four bedrooms."
"It's not about needing, Dean. It's about wanting. Besides, I already paid for six months in advance."
He paid in advance. And people said Dean was the irresponsible one. "Fine, Uri Geller. But if we'll run out of money, it will all be your fault."
"We're here," said Sam as the Impala slowed down.
Dean had no idea where 'here' really was, but he didn't say that. Instead, he opened his door as soon as the car stopped, but remained sitting. He could hear Sam opening his own door.
"Dean? Everything ok?" Sam was at Dean's side now, judging from the closeness of his voice.
No, Dean wanted to say. He was blind, he was scarred, and he could hear the sounds of kids playing nearby. When the only way to make it to your new home is to cling to your brother's arm, you know that things aren't ok.
"Yeah," he said roughly, standing up and putting his hand on the top of the car for balance, then slamming the door.
"They're looking, aren't they?" He asked Sam, who took his arm and started leading him, slowly.
"So what?" asked Sam.
He didn't like being a circus show, that's what.
"Nothing. Let's go inside."
"It's zero-eight-minus, Dean," said Sam, "not plus. Let's try again, ok?" Sam took Dean's hand and directed him to the right key. They had been doing that for a while now, since Sam finished installing the voice program.
"Sam, I don't need the damn thing," said Dean, taking his hand out of Sam's. "It's not like I'm going to write anything."
"You don't know that," replied Sam, "besides, that thing is mostly for reading. You'll scan papers and the program will read them to you." Sam was talking at that tone he adopted whenever Dean was a bit slow on the uptake, and that pissed Dean even more than his stunning lack of success.
"I can't scan, Sam. Dammit, I didn't even know you bought a scanner till you mentioned it."
"Oh," there was guilt in Sam's voice, "sorry. It came with the computer, and we'll just have to practice it, too. I did some research, and lots of blind people work this way."
And if lots of blind people worked that way, obviously he should, too. Dean got the message. However, he was willing to bet that all those people have been blind longer than him.
He couldn't even find his way around the overly-big house Sam rented without getting lost, but Sam had bought a whole bunch of supposedly blind-friendly gadgets, and was determined to work with Dean until he'd know how to use each and every one.
"I'm taking a break, ok?" Said Dean, standing up and trying not to stumble. He reached with his hand to feel the wall. There were five steps from the computer table to the door of his new room.
"Dean…" Sam began.
"I'm not mad, Sam. I…need some space, okay?" Dean didn't have to see Sam's face to know he had that kicked-puppy expression written all over it. Great.
Dean was sitting in what he was fairly sure was the middle of their back yard. He had cut out a straw of grass, and was rubbing it between his fingers. He didn't know exactly how he got there. Worst – he didn't know how to get back. He should have stayed near the fence, but he had that sudden, stupid burst of rebellion, and now he was stuck.
"Hi, Dean," a female voice called. Lori. He could hear her steps on the grass, and then heard the small 'thump' as she sat down.
"Sam said you're out here. What are you doing, all alone?" She asked curiously.
"I'm…not so sure," said Dean.
"Does it have something to do with Sam's long face?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of," repeated Lori.
"We didn't fight or anything, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that...I think he wants Daredevil for a brother," said Dean. The straw was completely ruined by now, and he tossed it away from him.
"I'm sure he doesn't," said Lori, "I mean, Ben Affleck? And that suit?"
Dean laughed. "Well, not literally…just to make me the most well-adjusted blind person in the world."
"Call me crazy," said Lori, "but that doesn't sound that bad." Dean could hear her shifting positions.
"Being well adjusted is fine; it's the road there that can drive a person insane. I can't even find the freakin' keyboard keys. Those morons who show blind people in the movies? They should try it themselves," said Dean, "maybe then they'd realize that nobody reads Braille two days after his injury."
"So, are you frustrated because Sam wants you to be well-adjusted, or because you want to be able to read Braille, work your computer, and fight crime?"
"Forget I said anything. Can we talk about something else?" Asked Dean. He'd be damned if yet another person would start nagging him about his feelings.
"Ok," said Lori, and for a moment Dean thought to apologize, but decided that would only bring to more emo talk.
"Let's talk about what you said about the keyboard keys."
"Oh, that," Dean said, gravely. "Sam bought that expensive voice program, and he wants me to use it." He sighed, thinking about all the money that had gone to waste.
"But you're having troubles finding the keyboard keys?"
"Yeah." Agreed Dean. Even in the old days, typing was a pretty slow process for him. Sam was the computer-oriented guy in the family.
"Blind typing…" murmured Lori, and Dean wondered what she had in mind.
"You know," she said at last, "there are lots of programs that teach you how to blind-type."
One thing he could say for Lori: She was practical; however, that wasn't going to work.
"Lori, you have to see to know which keys you're going to type."
"I'll read them for you," said Lori, as if she solved all the world's problems.
."You'll stand behind me and read me the letters?"
"I plan on sitting, but yeah."
"You sure about that?" asked Dean. "It'll be boring."
"Let me worry about that, okay?" answered Lori.
Dean hesitated.
"Come on," said Lori, "if it doesn't work, at least you'd be able to tell yourself you tried."
"Ha." She had a point there. Hell, it wasn't like he had anything better to do. And it might cheer Sam up, to see him practicing.
"Let's go inside," said Dean, getting up. He could hear Lori getting up as well, and reached so he could get hold of her arm for the way back.
At least he didn't have to ask Sam to save him from their own back yard.
-END-