Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners; Eric Kripke, the CW/WB.
A/N: It's been about 7 months since I've been able to write anything. This particular story -- based on a drabble I wrote called "I was blind, I still don't see" -- has been in the works for about a year and half. Finally finished it. And it's 9x longer than I wanted! It's very detailed and I hope you'll all bear with me through all the chapters! Thanks so much!
Sammy, I can't see!
Chapter 1
"What do you mean? Dean?"
"Sammy? I... I can't see. I'm blind. I... can't see! Sammy!"
"Dean, calm down. Shh, calm down. It's okay. We'll figure this out, I promise. Dean, shh." Sam gently disentangled Dean's strong grip from his hair, where it had quickly become entwined and definitely tore a few strands out. "Dean, we need to get out of here. The thing may come back," Sam whispered as calmly, yet urgently, as possible.
"Sammy, I can't see!"
"I know, I know. I'll help you. But we need to get out of here first. Come on. Hold on to me," Sam whispered in what he hoped was a comforting tone, given the current situation. His own heart rate was beating rather fast, having increased when he'd found a very frightened Dean on the floor after they'd become separated. Now, he'd lost his iron rod, flamethrower, and his lighter, Dean didn't look like he had his either, so there was extra urgency to leave and regroup. But first he needed to get Dean out.
But Dean wasn't moving. He seemed frozen in place. Sam tugged on Dean's arms, finally resorting to slowly curling his arm around Dean's waist to prod him forward. "Dean come on. We need to leave. We'll get your sight back. You'll see." Dean breathing increased. "Dean please!" The harsher tone jerked Dean out of his reverie and he stumbled forward, Sam only just managing to hold him up. And with a strong guiding arm and little more encouragement, Sam had Dean moving at a reasonable rate.
It was Sam's strong focus on his surroundings that had him momentarily forgetting what Dean had exclaimed to him. So when Dean's foot caught on the railing of a stairwell that had rotted and fallen over, he jerked his body heavily into Sam's, throwing them momentarily off balance while Sam scrambled to hold them both up. Yet Dean's flailing arms caught Sam's in a tangle and they both stumbled into a nearby wall, Sam hitting his head and instantly stars danced in his vision. Dean collapsed against him and, on reflex, let out a little whine he would later deny.
"Jesus!" Sam groaned, only inches from Dean's ear, and Dean visibly flinched, sorry for what he'd caused. At once Sam regretted it but didn't have long to dwell on it when he heard a faint plunk to his left. Sam immediately stilled. But apparently Dean didn't hear it and continued to rustle around, struggling to get off his brother's lap. Sam held Dean's shaky frame in place, finally resorting to placing a hand softly over Dean's mouth. Dean flinched again, but, on instinct, fell silent.
The house reflected their silence back on them. Nothing stirred, and Sam was beginning to wonder whether he'd been imagining things, when suddenly a flashlight beam fell only feet from where Sam and Dean lay interlocked. On impulse, Sam tightened his grip on Dean, willing the beam of light to move away. Click, click. They were foot steps. Sam held his breath. Dean twitched, struggling to get his shaking under control. He'd heard them too. And with their highly trained hunter hearing, they knew she was getting close.
Finally the source of the light came around the corner. A silver flashlight, Dean's, held by a pale, petite hand, leading up to the silhouette of a small woman. Yet that was all they could see in the pitch black of the room. The beam of light travelled up the worn stairway, dust particles glittering. Sam watched it's progress, shivering even under Dean's body warm and waiting for the inevitable, when the light ray would come back down and land on it's targets.
Suddenly, a scrape was heard to the left and the beam whirled around to search it out, bouncing quickly along the wall, yet finding nothing. And the footsteps started up again. Dean's silver flashlight led the pale hand away and finally out of the room, and the room fell to darkness once more.
It seemed too soon to move, yet Sam felt a small exhale of air on his hand from Dean and remembered how urgently they needed to leave. His body was tense and ready lest she come back. However, quickly and quietly Sam released Dean's mouth and nudged him forward. Slowly, painfully slow, Dean got up, Sam not far behind. And, with the guiding arm back around Dean's waist and the other stretched straight outward, Sam managed to guide them out of this particularly dark room, in the opposite direction of the treacherous flashlight and its new owner.
"I gotcha," Sam mumbled encouragingly when Dean wavered on a particularly wobbly floor board. Finally, they were nearing the exit. Just one more obstacle. A fallen section of roof and room where a bed now lay, broken in half on it's side, bits of bedding and ceiling collected around it, almost entirely blocking the doorway.
Dean had started trembling when Sam had stopped, worried that something had happened, something he couldn't see. Then Sam started moving once more, bringing Dean to the thinnest section of wreckage, and, careful not to knock anything over that would alert their foe, manoeuvred Dean through it, first by turning Dean sideways and nudging the back of his brother's knee in a clear signal to lift it up. He did so. Yet even with a foot of ground clearance, Dean still managed to tap the blockade he was apparently trying to get over. His leg got higher, the toe of his boot scraping along the blockage, attempting to find the top of it, yet starting to fear he never would. Finally though, his boot met no resistance and, tumbling forward only a little, Dean managed to get his first leg over. Standing on tippy toes, Dean's other leg followed suit.
Yet the top half of his body wasn't following. It was still stuck on the other side of the barrier, where Dean only just realized that he had a tight grip on Sam's pale blue button up shirt. Suddenly, an irrational fear set in as he thought of letting go of Sam! He couldn't. He wouldn't. He-
But Dean's hand moved toward himself, as did the body it was attached to. Sam stealthily climbed over the obstruction and was back within range of Dean. Dean teetered on his heels slightly as he realized how close Sam was, almost knocking him over. And before he had even registered they were gone, Sam had replaced his hands on Dean's body and was once again shuffling them both forward.
Sam moved with practised grace, even while guiding his brother's shuffling gait along. He reached for the door, praying that it wouldn't screech and reveal their position. Of course they couldn't get their way as the old wooden door let loose a whining howl. And the sound was intensified when added to the sudden gust of wind that shoved the door inward and right into Dean's shoulder. He bumped into Sam, crying out in pain.
"Come on Dean. Not much further," Sam said, only inches from Dean's ear. And they moved out into the storm-filled night. There was no doubt that the flashlight wielder would have heard the door plus the wind, so, with no sense of stealth, Sam had them moving at a three-legged race pace, tripping down the stair on their way. No moon lit the night. Sam ran on instinct. Car to the left, 100 yards. Pot hole that Dean tripped in earlier, 10 feel in front of car. Keys in Dean's pocket. Move now, before she comes back!
Over and over again, he muttered to himself, willing his legs to keep going, willing Dean to keep going, willing the freakin' witch not to see her two quarries scrambling across her yard!
Everything was a blur. He had no idea how they made it 100 yards so fast, or how Dean's keys managed to get into his hands when he didn't remember grabbing them. Soon enough, they were at the car.
"Door Dean." But Sam didn't wait for Dean to respond as he yanked open the passenger side door with a shrill squeal and navigated Dean into the car. Run around the front, slide in the driver's side, ignition forced on, hit gas, go.
It was only a glimpse of dark, blood red silk whipping in the wind before the witch and her flashlight were behind a line of trees and out of sight.
...
First thought? Safety. Second thought. Blind? Sam nearly swerved off the road when that word pounded into his skull. Dean has said blind. That's what he'd said. That word. It was clear. No other meaning. Blind. Irrationality kicked in. Maybe he's just wounded. It was terribly dark in there after all. Maybe it'd wear off. Maybe, he's not blind. Not blind. Not blind. Blind. Blind.
Upon entering the car, Dean hadn't moved, hadn't made a sound. Were it not for harsh, rattled breaths, Sam would hardly know he was there. He glanced over. Dean sat hunched in the passenger seat, head bent low, shrouded in shadows. His right hand was gripping his left, which was clinched into a fist... the fist that had been clenching Sam's shirt then had been forcefully torn away.
Thinking back now, Sam remembered a flash of pain cross Dean's face when that contact had been lost, but he'd been so focused on getting out that he hadn't had time to register the look. Now, Sam could see Dean's shoulders heaving, possibly in an effort to calm his breathing. And he was shaking. Maybe from the cold... or the fear. Dean was shaking. And it was making Sam's chest hurt. He focused back on the road.
Dean could barely think at all. Some how, they had made it out of that place alive. Though not all together safe. He couldn't see Sam. He couldn't see the new rain as it splattered on the windshield, or the wipers working their way back and forth. No bright yellow beams lighting the road, no dashboard in front of him. He couldn't see his own shaking hands. Or his own brother. There was nothing. He couldn't figure out why it didn't hurt more, losing his sight. All he felt was... empty. Numb.
The cab was silent. An eternity later, they pulled into the Red Spot Motel. Room 12 was theirs. With no warning, Sam was hauling Dean out of the car and into their room. He was then back outside, back out to the Impala's trunk where he pulled out every witch-proof weapon, spell or ward they owned. Yet when he came back in, Dean hadn't moved from where he'd been left, only two feet from the open doorway.
"Come on Dean."
"No!" Dean shrieked. He wouldn't admit it later, but his voice cracked in desperation.
"Dean, wha-"
"No! Just leave. Go. Get out of here!"
"What are-"
"Leave! I know you want to! Just leave! You'll be better off without me." Dean chocked on the last word.
And there it was. The anger. The pain.
"Dean," Sam sighed out. He watched as Dean squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to block out the world. Sam said no more, only wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulder's and guided him to the bed closest to the door. Dean didn't protest. He was too tired. Knees bumping into the edge of the bed, Dean turned around and sunk into the mattress, vaguely wishing it would engulf him and never let him out.
Sam stood over his brother briefly, hand cupping the side of Dean's head. His wet-with-rain thumb lightly rubbed Dean's temple before his finger's swept along Dean's cheeks, finally letting go. Dean's head followed the touch as far as it could, then the cold flesh disappeared. And he sat once more, numbed.
Sure, he didn't really want Sam to leave. He didn't want to be left alone. But this wasn't about him. This was about Sam. Dean couldn't watch out for him anymore. Couldn't protect him. Couldn't help him. Dean couldn't hunt. Couldn't fight. Couldn't even research. He was useless, a liability. And Sam didn't need him, a hindrance, around.
"Easy Dean. Easy." Sam's hand was back. Both of them were. Each hand, this time dry, cupped a side of Dean's face, the thumbs moving smoothly over Dean's freckled cheeks. That's when Dean realized he was crying, shoulders heaving, sobbing. He wailed in anguish. He hadn't even felt the tears come. They hadn't prickled his eyes. They hadn't made his sight go blurry. He didn't even feel the tickle as the rolled down his mildly wet cheeks. It hadn't taken long before he'd fully broken down in front of Sam.
Yet Sam hadn't run. He was kneeling in front of Dean, hands not leaving his face, whispering incomprehensible words. Not leaving his handicap brother. Not leaving.
Dean sobbed harder. It wouldn't stop. He couldn't stem the flow of tears or pain. He let it all out. Let it all show. Preying Sam wouldn't suddenly come to his senses... and leave.
And if Dean wasn't so emotional, he would have realized how much this wasn't like him. Winchesters didn't cry. Dean didn't cry. His pride wouldn't allow it. But he was emotionally frayed, nerve-endings electrified, fear and angish enveloped him. Sue him for a few tears.
It was a good 5 minutes before Sam saw the first signs of receding. Dean began hiccoughing, unable to force anymore sobs out. And even with numb toes and sore arms, Sam didn't move. Over and over he whispered, "It's okay, it'll be okay. I've got you Dean." And at some point Dean's hand had reattached to the front of Sam's shirt, his fingers entangling in the buttons.
"I've got you. Easy."
Dean drew in a long breath and haltingly released it.
"It's okay."
"No," Dean choked out. "Sammy, I can't see." It was barely audible.
Sam's heart rate sped up. He'd been hoping it had worn off by now. Or receded. Or anything. Dean released a small, unintentional whimper.
"Let's take a look." Working around Dean's arm, Sam tilted his brother's chin up and, for the first time, Sam saw his face unshadowed. His face was flush from crying, and glistened with smeared tears. Yet... "No scarring. Can you see anything at all?"
Dean shook his head and whimpered again, though he tried to stifle it with a small cough.
"No orbs? No gray?"
Another head shake. "Sammy-"
"Shh. You'll be okay, Dean," Sam said, hearing the anguish in his brother's broken voice.
Dean nodded numbly. Sam's finger's gently brushed Dean's eyelashes. Dean's eyes flinched. At least that meant he could feel it. His fingers moved softly over Dean's eye lids, over his tears ducts, over the freckled bridge of his nose, stroking up as far as Dean's eyebrows, looking for a reaction of any kind. Dean's eyes fluttered in all the right places. However, even at such close proximity, Dean's green irises refused to follow his movements. They stared dead ahead without so much as a glance at anything at all.
Through the prodding, Dean sat there, helpless, his right hand still tightly clutching Sam's shirt, the other splayed on his lap.
"Dean, I don't-"
"I'm blind." So blunt, it hurt. Yet, Dean had no more tears to cry.
Sam sighed deeply, then nodded before mentally slapping himself. Dean couldn't see that. Yet he chose not to correct himself. Any noise of confirmation would just hurt too much. The words were already a knife to his heart.
"Do you remember anything?" Sam finally asked softly.
"I-" Dean's face screwed up as he struggled to remember through the haze that was his memory. He'd woken up on a hard floor, everything completely black, then Sam was there. Before that?
Flashback ...
"A what?"
"Probably a witch," Sam answered, sitting in front of his laptop in a roadside diner in Willow, Nevada. "There's been four deaths in town. They all died- men by the way. They all died completely normal deaths... all in the same half mile radius."
"And that means witch because..." Dean stabbed into his half eaten sausage.
"Because," Sam drawled, "That half mile radius was said to once be home to a coven of witches whom aggravated the town so bad that the townspeople, in true Salem style, burned the cluster of homes down and captured and burned any that tried to escape. Apparently there had been deaths all over town and when the coven supposedly all died the killings stopped."
"You think they were real witches?"
"There's only a few reports from back then, all saying the same thing: people dropping dead all over the place from fairly safe things like people tripping and falling on their crop tools, walking into metal hooks hanging on walls in the stables, and one person apparently wandered into an open field and tripped into a wide open hole that was to be turned into a water well, breaking his neck on the way down."
"They didn't have glasses back then, d-"
"Dean!"
"Just saying. All right. Worth checking out. Where do we start?"
"Well, apparently, when the coven's home was burnt, only one building was left standing, half burnt and uninhabitable."
Dean grinned. "All right, we'll go tonight."
... End flashback
That was some 18 hours ago. All the rest was really fuzzy. "I... fell?" Dean hesitated.
"You fell?"
"I- I can't really- I mean- I- S- Sam?!"
"Shh, Dean. Calm down. It's okay. You don't have to remember right now."
"But what if it doesn't come back?" Dean whispered in full panic.
Unfortunately Sam stayed silent for a half second too long before Dean started hyperventilating.
"Easy Dean. Easy! It's okay. I know you're scared. I am too. It'll be okay. Just breathe, Dean. Breathe."
Over and over again, Sam repeated that, all the while keeping a gentle hand on Dean's back, rubbing small circles in it, just like Dean used to do to with Sam.. After what seemed like forever, Dean took a long, stuttering breath and looked up, directing his face toward Sam's comforting voice. Dean held desperately onto what Sam had been saying, willing himself to believe that it was true. Truth was, Dean couldn't see much hope.
"We'll get it back," Sam said decisively, and Dean nodded despite his thoughts. He calmed down.
Silent filled the room. Neither knew what to say. Dean just held onto Sam's presence, and his shirt, for dear life, while Sam brought his hands to Dean's neck and just held him, letting his heart beat fall into sync with the beating pulse beneath his palms.
Completely exhausted, Dean's sore eyelids began to droop inadvertently. And, without words, Sam began to undress Dean. His boots were removed and his socks. Next was his plaid red button up.
"Sammy, I-" Dean began, looking terrified.
"Dean, I promise we'll figure this out. But we can't do it tonight."
And, without another word on the matter, bed sheets were pulled back and Dean was dropped into bed, feeling quite like a newborn again without his sight. He barely remembered that his head was supposed to go on the pillow, for soon enough the white pillow was gripped in Dean's one hand like a child would hold a blanket. However, his other hand refused to leave Sam's pale blue shirt. He couldn't lose that too. He'd lost his sight. He couldn't lose his precious brother too. It hurt way too much not being able to see Sam's face, but also not to feel his brother... no, he couldn't. Sam didn't object.
Sam knelt right by Dean's head, one hand resting gently by Dean's forehead while his fingers absently caressed his brother's brow. Newly turned, scared, lonely, and tired, soon Dean was asleep. But the blindness didn't stop the nightmares.
Hell came just as vivid as before. He could still feel the heat, hear the screams, smell the filth, taste the sulphur and see the red blood. Red. Everywhere. That's all he saw was red. Red blood. Red eyes. Red silk. Red, flowing silk, and a whispered incantation. The heat was too much and Dean shot up in bed, screaming, "Sam!" And the red faded to black.
To be continued...
A/N: I'm going to post chapters every couple days if there's enough enthusiasm because it's all written out. If you find any errors in plot, please let me know! Thanks for reading! Please review as well!