I had one of those days yesterday. One of those truly sucky experiences that makes me feel different and weird and not-normal because of my blind eye. So... I committed fanfiction. Not beta'ed because I just needed to get this off my chest. My thanks to babyreaper for leaving a comment on the previous chapter.

Dean, as always, I owe you. I make a mean apple crumble and you are welcome any time.

Not mine, don't own. Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.

Dean Winchester sat in the middle of a dirty, crowded theater with his little brother Sam, waiting for the movie to start. Both boys wore cardboard eyeglasses with one red lens and one blue lens.

Sam giggled. "You look silly, De'."

Dean thwapped his brother upside the head with a box of Milk Duds. "Look who's talkin', four-eyes." He took a long slurp of soda.

The theater was nearly empty on a Saturday afternoon, a bad sign for its future longevity. Bobby had slipped Dean some cash to entertain himself and Sam for a few hours while he shopped in town, purportedly to buy some new parts for Singer Salvage.

Dean couldn't help but wonder if the veteran hunter might be buying some supernatural supplies as well, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Giant Mutant Spiders From Hell (in 3-D) had been advertised during Saturday morning cartoons for the last three months and both boys wanted to see the giant arachnids fill the theater.

"I wish Dad was here," Sammy said, looking around at the stained seats.

Dean didn't, but he didn't say so to Sam. If Dad had been there, they wouldn't even be at the theater; they'd likely be running wind sprints in front of some fleabag motel. Dad had dumped them at Bobby's to follow a new lead in search of the thing that had killed their mother.

"If Dad was here, we wouldn't be drinkin' Cokes and eatin' popcorn," Dean reminded Sam.

Sam nodded back at his big brother and slurped soda through his red Twizzlers licorice, just like Dean had shown him.

Just then, the lights dimmed and the first previews began to roll. Both boys sat back in anticipation, wide grins on their faces.

"That was awesome!" Sam turned an eager smile to his big brother as soon as the credits began to roll. "What'd ya think, De'?"

Dean swallowed, trying hard to keep his lunch where it belonged. "'Was good," he mumbled.

Sam frowned, a little wrinkle forming in between his hazel eyes. "You didn't like it?"

Dean shrugged. "We need to go find Bobby. I'm sure he's wondering where we're at." The older boy swayed as he stood, but tried to pass it off by discretely clutching the nearest seat to retain his balance.

Sam tipped his head at his brother's actions. Floppy bangs fell into his face as worry scrunched his eyebrows. "De'? What's wrong?"

Dean swallowed again, trying to breathe deeply. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying. "Nothing, Sammy. Let's go." He walked over to the recycling bin, concentrating hard on keeping his feet in a straight line, and threw in the colored 3-D glasses. Sam tailed after, chewing his lip.

Bobby met them just outside the theater exit, trucker hat on, a wide smile lighting his eyes. "So? How were the mutant spiders from hell, boys?"

Sam responded with expected enthusiasm. "They were great, Uncle Bobby! You shoulda seen 'em! Wham! Ka-pow!" Sam punched and karate-chopped the air, nearly hitting his brother's arm. "I don't think Dean liked 'em very much, though." The younger boy leaned conspiratorially toward Bobby and whispered loudly, "I think he's scared of spiders."

Dean rounded on his brother. "I'm not scared of those dumbass spiders!" He glared at Sam. "They were lame. Lame and stupid, just like you!" Dean wrapped his arms around his waist as if to tighten the flannel protectively around himself.

There was a moment where Sam simply stared at Dean, his mouth open in a little "o" of surprise. Then his brows lowered and he puffed up his chest and glared at his big brother. "I am not stupid!"

"Oh, I forgot. You're an idiot!" Dean sneered.

"You're a jerk!" Sam threw a punch in Dean's direction, but the older boy dodged it easily.

"And you're a prissy little bitch!"

"Boys!" Bobby collared both Winchesters and separated them before they could come to blows. Looking from boy to the other, he tried to gain some sense of the situation.

Clearly, something about the movie had upset Dean. The older boy stood apart from his brother, rubbing eyes that appeared a tad too shiny, wincing as if direct sunlight was causing him pain.

Sam's lower lip jutted out as he stared accusingly at Dean. He sniffed loudly, looking worse than if the older boy had simply kicked him. He had the saddest puppy dog eyes Bobby had ever seen, and one fat tear rolled down his cheek.

Bobby turned toward the younger Winchester. "Sam, I want you to wait over here for a minute. I wanna talk some sense into this brother 'o yours." He gestured at the curb of the sidewalk and Sam sat down reluctantly, still fuming at Dean.

Bobby tugged the older boy along by his flannel-clad elbow until they were well out of Sam's hearing range.

"Now, what in the Sam Hill's got your knickers in a knot, boy?"

Dean wouldn't meet the older man's eyes. He folded his arms and stared at his grubby sneakers. "Nothing, Bobby," he mumbled.

"Nothing, my ass, Dean! You never tear into Sam like that. You know better."

Dean looked up, green eyes shiny, squinting against the bright sunlight. He nodded, swallowing.

Bobby ventured a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You all right, son?"

Dean blinked and shook his head. "Headache," he whispered.

Bobby noticed Dean's right eye drifting; he tended to have trouble keeping his blind eye in line when he was sick or tired. And that's when the penny dropped.

"Oh, hell, boy," Bobby growled, pulling Dean roughly to his chest. "That 3-D stuff done made you sick, didn't it?"

Dean nodded against Bobby's chest. "I couldn't see the movie," he whispered. "Not really. It was all blurry." And then Dean was fighting tears, sniffing and hiccuping against Bobby's shoulder, something he rarely - if ever - did. "It's not fair!"

The old hunter's heart contracted with sympathy pains. "You're right, Dean. It ain't fair."

Bobby stood on a lonely street in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, one arm around his young charge, and let eleven-year-old Dean sob into his chest. He stroked Dean's dirty blond, spiky hair as the boy fought to regain control. "Just let it out, son."

All too soon, the older Winchester brother pulled away, wiping his puffy eyes with his sleeve. "You got any Advil?" he asked Bobby, squinting.

"We'll get some on the way home." Bobby curled an arm around Dean's shoulders and steered him over to where Sam was sitting on the sidewalk, knees drawn up, studying a line of ants.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean rasped, his voice husky from crying.

Sam looked up with worried puppy eyes. "What's wrong?"

Dean shrugged. "Headache." He thrust a hand out to his brother. "Sorry I took it out on you." Sam grabbed Dean's hand in both of his, and Dean pulled him up.

"That's okay, De'."

Bobby led the two boys back to the dilapidated truck he was driving this week and headed toward the nearest pharmacy. Dean listed toward the passenger side window, looking pale. Bobby left the boys in the truck when he went in to get Dean's medicine, giving strict orders to both of them to stay put.

After Bobby left, Sammy's voice wavered quietly through the silence. "I'm sorry the movie made you sick, De'."

"S'okay, Sammy," Dean said, tiredly.

Sam stuck his tongue between his lips, the way he did when he was thinking deeply about something. "Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you put both lenses on your good eye? Would it work then?"

"What?" Dean asked, nonplussed. He lifted his head from the cool window to stare at his brother.

Sammy explained, excitedly, "We could take the blue lens from the right side and put it over the red lens on the left side and make purple and then you'd see in 3-D, right?"

Dean blinked back an unexpected prickle of tears. He swallowed hard before answering. "It won't work like that Sammy. I, uh ..." He bit his lip and blew out a breath. "I won't ever see in 3-D, Sam. My eyes don't work like yours. I couldn't see the movie, not like you could. It looked really weird to me and it made me sick to my stomach."

"I'm sorry, De'."

"No! Don't you say that," Dean growled. "Don't you ever say that, okay? I want you to see like normal people. It's just..." And here, Dean broke off, fighting tears of frustration and pain.

Sammy leaned forward in the cab. "What, Dean?"

"Tell me what it looked like."

And that was how Bobby Singer found his boys, twenty minutes and one long-ass line later: Dean in the front seat with his eyes closed and a smile on his face, Sam in the back reciting a vibrant blow by blow rendition of Giant Mutant Spiders From Hell. In 3-D.

A/N: In my experience, today's 3-D movies aren't too bad for someone with one eye, but I remember having a similar reaction to Dean's when I was watching one as a kid.

Thanks for reading!