A/N: This is the story in sequel to A Path to Darkness (which is how everything here happened). You don't have to read the first one, but it might help you to follow along. I'd also like to thank my beta, Wild Wolf Free17! It feels good to have this story up, finally!

The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach -Author, unknown.

Walking Just to Stumble

Chapter 1

November 5th

There was never much snow in Georgia – whatever part he and his family currently resided in.

But the roads were icy, thick. Jagged snakes in the lanes were purely gravel or dirt; and those were frozen solidly over. Maybe it was just that day in particular, or maybe it was because something bad was going to happen.

Sam, furious as he was, prodded the gas petal of the Impala harder. He'd reached, earlier that day, before he dropped his brother off at their house, his two-beer maximum.

The sun was sinking and the street, now nearing the 'main' section of town, was becoming more and more crowded. There were people everywhere. Christmas shopping.

Sam welcomed a playful scowl and imagined Dean's reaction in his mind if his older brother could just see mother and daughter crossing the street – hand in hand, clad in overalls, plaid jackets, and straw-threaded hats. It seemed like out of a dream; somewhere that he actually wanted to live – for life.

Stopped at the only red light, which he now assumed to be broken, Sam watched, curiosity sparking his insides, as a dark man suited in an expensive leather coat made his way towards the Impala. The driver's window was down; and the man was carrying a bucket. Not taking his eyes off the on-coming figure, the youngest Winchester ignored the impatient honks; the man captivated him.

Dean would smirk, Sam thought, letting his older brother's sarcastic ways fill his mind; women are supposed to be the only sex that captivate the Winchesters – not in this way though.

The '67 midnight-black Chevy let out a low grunt and sputter of rebellion as the man pulled up along side the window.

"Hi," the stranger said, his voice filled with thick evil; not the kind of 'supernatural' evil, Sam counteracted.

"Hi," Sam let off, and in the blink of an eye, the man tossed the continents of the bucket in Sam's face – it burned.

November 18th

"Why hasn't Dad seen me since that day?"

Dean Winchester gulped, unaware that his brother could hear the fearful gesture. Sam's voice was trembling; it sounded scared – and it was Dean's job to never let his baby brother be scared. Ever.

And 'that' day- the older brother scowled at the thought; if only he hadn't been too drunk to notice how bad off Sam was.

"Sam." Dean's head yanked up as the clicking heels of his brother's nurse prodded by the room – passing it. "It's-"

"He's mad at me, Dean, isn't he?" Dean looked up again from his lightly aqua-padded wooden hospital chair to glower at his brother. He couldn't, he found. Sam was dressed and ready to go home – to their rental house that their father chipped in for free. But no, Dean couldn't be mad at Sam, not anymore. His brother – his little brother, the one he was to protect, risk his life for, was chained by tubes and IVs to an uncomfortable hospital bed was fine.

Fine; or so the doctors said.

But the fact that his little brother's piercing bluish-green eyes were now lifeless was not – 'fine'. The fact that he had the mixed up title of 'acute bilateral blindness' was not okay.

"No, Sammy." Dean forced the hard lump swelling up in his throat down as his green eyes lingered on Sam's un-responding ones. "Dad's not mad at you; Dad could never be mad at you if he tried."

"Then why," and the twenty-three-year-old's voice was now cold as he continued; he detected the weakness in Dean's argument. "hasn't he even visited me?"

He has, Sammy. Dean bit his lip from saying the words he yearned to speak. You just couldn't see him.

"He's been busy with a hunt."

"What hunt, Dean?" Sam scowled and Dean wished that their 'light' conversation from a little over an hour ago would return.

Dean coughed. "Possessed dogs."

"Black dogs?" Sam corrected, his battered red eyelids closed tightly over his eyes and then re-opened to break Dean's heart even more.

"Those," Dean choked again. He knew it was a lie; Sam knew it was a lie.

"So that's the thing we got dragged down here for?" No, he knew it wasn't.

"Yep." Dean then consumed himself with a yawn. He needed a strong cup of caffeine, badly.

"Has it snowed yet?" Sam was smiling now; Dean was caught off guard. That one thing – little frozen water droplets, could make his brother smile. His brother was still a kid; but these 'little' things, Dean realized, did not amuse Sam this easily over a year ago.

"No." Dean shuddered as he drew in another exaggerated breath. Damn, the hospital was a cold place. "It's waiting for you."

"What do you mean it's 'waiting' for me?" Sam's tired smile deepened as he tilted his head in what he assumed to be his brother's direction.

"It's waiting to snow until you get the hell out of this hell-joint," Dean muttered, manliness and testosterone reminding him that this was serious – professional; just as John directed.

"I seriously doubt they'll ever let me out of here," Sam chuckled – something that he hadn't done in over fourteen days.

"Yeah," Dean laughed lightly, eyes landing on Sam's doctor out in the hallway; watching them.

"What's wrong?" Sam's face grew serious; he was psychic-boy after all.

"Dr. Emry has cared to join us," Dean mumbled. He despised his brother's doctor – the best doctor for 'these' conditions. The thing that ticked Dean off though, was that Dr. Emry was a know-it-all. He spoke a completely different language; one not equivalent to Latin.

"He's not that bad of a guy, Dean." Sam shook his head lightly, a mild chortle escaping his throat. "He's trying to get me out of here."

"I'm sure," Dean responded sarcastically as he watched the doctor fiddle with paperwork. "I'm sure that we can take you to some place, get Dad going with the voodoo crap, and then you'll be healed."

A scowl filled Sam's face yet again. "It doesn't work that way, Dean."

"You're the one who took me to a spiritual healer, there, Sammy-boy."

"It's Sam." Dean grinned; his brother was still vulnerable to be irritated. "And I'm not dying here, am I?"

Dean frowned as he let the bickering comments edging to escape him dissipate, and reality overtook him once again. "Nah, Sam." He was looking at his hands now, relieved that the doctor hadn't interrupted them yet. But you sure were close...

"And, hey." Dean controlled his voice to sound upbeat, somewhat cheerful. "You know-"

"Hello, boys," the doctor interrupted him; Dean's eyes narrowed and Dr. Emry's followed – they were in competition, but for what?

"How are you doing, Samuel?" Sam's head tilted in the direction of the doctor and Dean let his looks look like they could kill. Sam, not Samuel.

"I've had my better days." A fake grin swept across Sam's face as the doctor, Dean assumed, made a phony gesture and buried himself in Sam's paperwork. "When can I get out of here?"

"Once you're all healed up and ready to go." The angry stare deepened on the older brother's face; the doctor should be a pediatrician – not someone who fixes up…

"How soon will that be, Dr. Emry?" Dean's jaw tightened as he spoke up. His little brother's face was raked with chemical burns, as were other parts of his upper body; but the burns didn't bother him quite as much as his brother's eyes. The eyes were lifeless; blind, and what Sam couldn't tell him was that his 'psychic powers' had vanished. Were gone. Sam was blind. Sam…

Next Chapter: Saturday, May 12th (Unless something drastic has happened to me!)