The eye doctor was very optimistic. Just a few days and it should clear up. The drops would flush out the debris and the antibiotic would do the rest. The situation was still pretty serious and Sam knew his brother was worried.
"You see, Dean, that wasn't so bad. We use the medicine, come back in a couple of days, and that should be it."
Until then, big brother could be one bad patient.
Big brother was not comfortable being cared for. But losing his sight, like this, was not the same as sneaking around in the dark, which he could do.
He quickly realized he should just resign himself to giving up the lead, albeit temporarily, and maybe he could enjoy it. But Sam's concern was stifling. That had to go.
"Forget all that, Sammy. How do the glasses look?"
"They're not for fashion, Dean. You need to protect your eyes."
The truth is, Sam did make sure that Dean looked good. No matter how short-lived, being injured and dependent was difficult enough for his brother.
"I drive an Impala, dude. I can't look like a douche-bag!"
"Well, don't worry because you're not driving. So, let's go. Shotgun."
"Shotgun? Now I can't even pick the music!"
This was going to be a long three days.