So this is largely experimental and ultimatly nerve wracking but here goes. I've seen a lot of people doing Supernatural drabble challenges on here and I must admit, it seems like a lot of fun, but I wasn't sure how to get into it.

I have a horrible tendency to ramble so I knew i'd never be able to fit all I wanted to say in 100 words; i'm not that good at brevity :') so I set myself the challenge of 1,000 and still went over by 285 words :') opps.

I guess the most entertaing part about prompts is seeing how people interprit the word. So here is my interpretation of blind. I don't know how people will react, so this is sort of testing the waters.

I usually like to be more prepared in my writing, but this is litrally the work of an hour or two last night, which is why it makes me so nervous posting. But maybe the point of prompts is impulsive writing? I don't know. Hopefully it's okay.

Blind

Dean Winchester knew his brother better than anyone else in this corrupt world. Better than John. Sometimes better even than Sammy knew himself. The good, the bad, and the freakishly outlandish. What buttons to press in the eternally rewarding pursuit of riling his composure; how to coerce the indisputable intelligence of their outfit into being played by the elders whims and fancies, while still feigning to Stanford's best, a state of free will election, but most prominently; when life necessitated the surrender of untouchable ficade, morbid and binding humour, and iron-willed masculinity, Dean knew instantly how to reinstate the reprieve of a role he had been born to inhabit, the comforter, the protector: the big brother. So yeah, he knew Sam, or at least, that was what he had thought.

So how could he have been so blind?

Sam's personality and temperament paid homage in great semblance to the vibrant dusty volumes he so passionately pursued. The kid was a wealth of honour, emotion, philosophy, internalization and calamity, all one had to do was read him. And boy could Dean read him! The written word had never riveted him as it did Sam, but yet the story of his younger brothers soul engrossed him like no other.

There was one time, out in Illinois some 12 years past, when, while servicing their artillery after a big hunt, John found the firing clip of his favoured revolver damaged, marking the veteran tool useless. In the chaos of the previous night, any one of them could have been responsible. Dean knew it was Sam. Why? The kid had taken an hour long shower (Dean supposed its significance to stem from some trash about cleansing the body of sin). That, and the look in his eyes. A rabbit in the headlights indeed. Guilt did great disservices to the sensitive nature of Sam Winchester.

So Dean had taken the rap, of course, and earned himself a few days in the dog house for his heroism. But it had been worth it, and not exclusively for the reason that Sam subsequently had owed him big time.

So why then, had it taken a freaking Angle Of The Lord to enlighten him?

Hell was both literal and relative, and for an in-correspondent time the brothers had inhabited its guises body and mind; heart and soul. One bound to wander the earth, beseeching instead the absolution of hell-fire. One, in the preservation of love, forced to endure tortures beyond bodily destruction. Both encounters had left their mark. Both men had their scars.

They were damaged goods, now and forever. But this – this new devilry … this was above and beyond. Did suffering, anguish and a self conviction of askew morality negate the crime? Could they? Right now, Dean didn't know. He had never been more uncertain in his life.

'Stop him, or we will' had been Castiel's imposition. But stop him from what, exactly? Hunting was a 'dangerous road,' yet Dean did not see any intervention or rehabilitation programs for that. Then came the cruel irony of revelation. Armed with a restless conscience, growing unease and the angles monotone directives, Dean had drove 60 miles: 60 miles to devastation.

If there was one thing the Winchester's prided themselves upon in the vices of their incongruous, eccentric and ultimately self-destructive lives, it was their humanity. That sliver of moral essence which drove them to forsake the insurance of their own lives and take up the defence of a stranger. The one virtue nestled in the heart of the otherwise villain.

It wore Sam's face, but it was not Sam. Not that creature which had executed an exorcism with its mind, and kept company with a demon. Not just any demon; Ruby. It was not Sam, because that thing was not human, and the one thing Sam would never, could never, renounce was his humanity. Hell would perish to the persuasion of ice first.

And that had been Dean's first oversight.

Then came the lies, the absences, the anger and mistrust. Forty years in Hell and Dean was illiterate, for Sam abruptly was as a foreign language to him.

Sam thought his brother slept peacefully when he stole away into the secrecy of the night, little knowing that Dean had not secured peace or rest enough since his first glorious rebirth into liberty. There were more prevalent concerns which staved off sleep in the lonely hours than just the ghosts of horrors that nightmares brought, and all of them featured his brother. He could have pursued Sam, there had been ample opportunity. But each time he'd defected. Why? What had he been afraid of? The answer to that was self evident, he had been afraid of the truth. Deep down, he had known he didn't want to know.

Sam swore to him that he would surrender the use of his powers, and Dean wanted to believe him, more than he had wanted anything else in his life. Hell for a while, he had even convinced himself that he did. But the evidence was undeniable; Sam was a changed man.

Dean knew of his betrayal, his commitment to extra curriculars, the influence of his corrupt mentor. Knew and resented. Guilt was like a toxin to his brothers sensitive soul, an incapacitating agent, aroused by the slightest deviancy. So where was that remorse now?

He knew where accusation lay for his brothers transition. How she had wormed her way back into his life again, taking advantage of his defeat for her own ends, and there she had remained: lecherous parasite; puppet master. There were consequences to fraternizing with a demon, especially one as unpredictable and uncohesive as Ruby. And the inescapable reality of being ignorant to her motive, only graduated her as a more prominent threat.

Often fear gives speed to our wild imaginations, coining scenes which reduce even the atrocities of fickle truth, to a more desirable scene by comparative. But not even that generalization was fail-safe. No matter how much one man implored it to be true.

Dean had made the necessary connections, of course he had. If Demon blood was the root of this abhorrent affliction … well then the contingency stood to reason. But the distinction between knowing and witnessing was paramount. Knowing, he could still cheat himself into the conviction that the brother he had grown up with and the man he admired, resided still within that shell, weak, oppressed but still alive, though the comforting delusion disintegrated hourly. Witness meant the renouncement of hope.

Starved and half crazy with addiction, Sam had not been able to resit when demon blood had been spilled in the foray. The crimson liquid still dripping from his chin, he had turned to regard Dean and Castiel, territorial, a predator guarding it's prey. But belying his stance was the emotion in his eyes. There was the remorse Dean had been so long searching for.

And now they were driving to Bobbies. Just the two of them. An echo of times gone by.

Sam's wrists and ankles were bound as he sate alone upon the back seat. Dean cannot even remember whose protection such measures were observed to ensure; his own or Sam's. There is blood still dried upon his chin and the sight of it makes Dean sick to the core. Everything's a mess.

Sam's voice knows only two words:

"I'm sorry." And he repeats them over and over.

Dean knows he is. Knows it with all his heart, but it doesn't change anything.

Blindness is not solely a physicality, because Dean has watched over Sam his entire life, and he never saw this coming. Love is a blindness.

We are often blind to the mistakes and self destructive habits and actions of the ones we love. Sometimes until it's too late.

Thank you very much for reading.

Your veiws would be most welcome if you feel up to giving them.

One Wish Magic