Vision Quest
K Hanna Korossy

It came to a head, because of course it did, during a hunt. And the most critical part of the hunt, at that.

Naturally, he'd noticed that Dean wasn't seeing as well as he used to. It was one of the few normal things in their lives, the aging of bodies, the way they didn't bounce back like they used to, needed more sleep, moved less easily. And Dean was closing in on forty. That was far more surprising than that his body acted like it.

But Sam's brother compensated, as they always did. He turned the light on in the car to read, had Sam deal with any fine print, and generally pretended he was fine. Sam was the reader and researcher in the group, anyway, so it was fine.

Until it wasn't.

The ritual chant had been too long to memorize, and Dean needed to do the reading since Sam was the one who had the tengu treed. That had taken longer to do than they'd expected and dusk was starting to fall. The mountain demon was unhappy about the local logging operation and had already killed two people; if they didn't banish it now, it could keep doing so, starting with Sam. They had to get this right.

Dean had started strong, reading the phonetically written Japanese chant. Sam shifted on the balls of his feet as he listened, an iron spear in each fist as he watched the tengu skitter around the branches. Like many nature-bound creatures, it was sensitive to iron, and it hissed as it watched Sam, looking for an opening to strike. Sam silently hurried his brother.

But Dean was slowing. He was clearly struggling with some of the more complex words, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see his brother tilt the book, trying to catch more of the light.

Crap. He should've written the words in larger print. Or let Dean take point so he was more likely to face the creature. But Sam continued to be wary of his brother since the whole Gadreel betrayal, and he'd felt better taking the lead. Damn Dean and his vanity, anyway; would glasses be such a big deal?

He took an experimental step back, toward Dean, away from the tengu. Maybe they could trade places? But the demon quickly took advantage, slithering down to one of the lowest branches, hissing its rictus smile. Sam quickly moved forward, spear poking the creature back higher. Yeah, that wouldn't work.

Then Dean stumbled over a phrase and muttered a curse, breaking the flow of the chant.

The tengu didn't hesitate. Strengthened by the release from the ritual's power, it leaped from the tree, shoving spears aside to plow into Sam.

"Sam!"

"Keep going!" Sam gasped back as he dropped the longer-range weapons and grabbed at the dagger in his jacket pocket. They didn't know if the demon blade would work on a Japanese demon, but it was worth a try.

Dean was yelling the words now, no longer hesitating. Adrenaline could sharpen eyesight, too, the pedantic corner of Sam's mind mused even as he tried to keep the sharp teeth from his throat. He'd jammed his arm against the tengu's scaly throat, but the saliva it dripped on his neck and wrist burned like acid.

Sam rolled them, putting himself on top. The tengu hissed again and scrabbled at Sam's ribs. The lore was wrong: it didn't seem to have fingernails, let alone claws. But it was strong and its fingers dug into Sam's side.

They didn't even know if the ritual would work if it was interrupted midway.

Sam finally managed a grip on the dagger, almost dropping it at the sharp pain in his flank. But as soon as he raised the weapon, the tengu stopped trying to dig holes in him and grabbed at Sam's arm with a grip so strong, it immediately numbed the limb to his elbow.

Dean's voice rose in a crescendo, then stopped.

The tengu howled, eyes flaring a bright blue that reminded Sam ominously of angels. And then it started shrinking, shriveling, shrieking all the way, imploding into itself like a tiny black hole until it completely popped out of existence.

Sam slumped to all fours, panting, head hanging.

"Sam. Sammy." Dean was immediately beside him, grabbing his arms, lifting his chin, trying to see if and how he was hurt.

Sam was still trying to catch his breath and didn't answer, pressing one hand weakly against his leaking side as he rocked back on his heels.

"Lemme see." Dean actually paled a little as he yanked Sam's shirt free and got a glimpse of his throbbing left flank, which wasn't a good sign. "It's just a scratch," he said unconvincingly.

Sam didn't bother looking; he could feel the gouges the tengu's four fingers had left. The wounds would have to be treated with holy water, too, which was always fun. But he did finally find the strength to pull his shirt free of Dean's grip and fix his eyes on his brother. "You're gettin'…your eyes…checked."

At least Dean had the grace not to argue.

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The wounds in Sam's side had torn muscle and took days and a round of antibiotics before allowing him to move without considerable pain. The burning saliva had left sores on Sam's chin, neck, and one hand and wrist, too, which earned him some wary looks the one time they went out to eat. By mutual consent, they returned to the bunker to stand down while Sam healed, Dean doing the shopping and cooking while Sam slept and researched the angry red Mark on Dean's arm. He had a growing fear that would be even more of a challenge than Abaddon, and it both softened his anger at his brother over Gadreel and fueled it over his carelessness. Mostly they avoided each other except for Dean's daily first aid checks.

Sam barely glanced up as Dean tromped down the stairs, back from a trip to town. Not until Dean slid a piece of paper in front of his face.

It was a prescription. For…glasses, Sam realized, and looked up at Dean with raised eyebrows.

"You were right. Happy?" Dean didn't look irritated, though, despite the words. He looked dismayed.

"Not really," Sam answered honestly. There was no question in his mind Dean had only gotten his eyes checked because Sam had gotten hurt. He handed the scrip back. "You're really getting glasses?"

"Or contacts." Dean sank down on the edge of the library table. "Don't really like the idea of sticking something in my eyes, though. And what if it gets knocked out during a fight? Not like a vamp's gonna wait until I find it and shove it back in."

That was something Sam had considered. As well as glasses being knocked off. He'd even looked into what athletes wore: straps that held on glasses, prescription goggles and masks. He longed to ask Bobby how the older hunter had handled it, had talked to two other senior hunters he knew, but they weren't much in the field anymore. "There's Lasik…" Sam offered.

"Yeah, cutting up my eyes? No thanks." Dean managed an unhappy smile. "Just gonna be the smart-looking one in the team. Nothing new there." He stood, jamming the prescription into his shirt pocket. "Sucks to get old, dude."

"Alternative sucks, too, Dean," Sam reminded him. But he kinda hated how miserable Dean looked. "We'll find you a 'hot librarian' pair, okay?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, whatever. You eat lunch yet?" Before Sam could answer, he continued, "Never mind, forgot who I'm talkin' to. Sloppy joes in twenty minutes. Got you some carrots to go with 'em."

Sam watched his brother's muted departure, and couldn't help but feel a lifetime's accrued affection cooling his bitterness.

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In the end, Dean didn't have a chance to get glasses.

The showdown with Abaddon came sooner than they'd expected, ending bloody and brisk. Sam barely had time to get over his shock over the killing machine his brother had become before Metatron made his move, and going shopping for glasses was pretty much the last thing on their minds.

And then Dean died in Sam's arms, stabbed in the chest by Metatron.

The Mark soon brought him back, and many weeks later, Sam brought him back from the Mark. The red badge of horror was still there, but they'd bought some time, and the return of Dean's humanity.

But not his middle-aged eyesight.

It didn't even cross Sam's thoughts until he came into the kitchen to find Dean reading the tiny print on a box of some kind of mix, and not even squinting doing it, nor standing under the light. Sam slammed to a halt.

"You can read that?"

A few years back, Dean would've made some joke about how he'd learned to read decades ago. A year before, Dean would've dismissed him with sarcasm. But a pass at demonhood and almost killing his little brother had humbled Dean and softened Sam. They were in a much better place, despite the malignancy that ate at Dean. Even as his brother struggled, Sam trusted him again, believed in him.

Didn't doubt when Dean responded, "Yeah," just waited curiously.

Dean sighed, set the box down.

"So, you know when I came back from Hell, I was all…rehymenated and everything?"

"Yeah?" It was an inadvertent side-effect from the several times they'd died: restoration of the body to life also meant a reset on scars, arthritic aches, loose joints. Sam wasn't sure if it was the death or the demon powers, but this time Dean had even returned without the handprint Cas had left on him getting him out of Hell.

"Well, took care of my eyes this time, too. Not saying they're not gonna go bad again, or that they're 20/20, but I can read fine. Guess going black for a while did them good." The joke fell flat, and Dean immediately looked apologetic; it was not a good reminder.

That didn't bother Sam, though. He was still chewing on Dean's revelation. "Seriously? Distance and reading?"

"Distance was always okay—I could read signs on the road, dude. But, yeah, reading's fine. S'like I'm twenty again."

The amount of water under the bridge since twenty was a boggling thought. But Sam just shook his head admiringly. "Awesome. Just gotta die every few years, and you're set." He offered Dean a tentative grin.

Dean barked a laugh, able to find the humor since it was Sam making the joke. "Yeah, I don't think that one's gonna catch on, man." He started pulling stuff out of the refrigerator.

"Yeah, probably not." He'd take a blind brother over a dead one any day, even if it was temporary. Sam shook off the dark thought and went for coffee instead. "You know this means you're not getting out of research next time."

"What's that, Sam?" Dean cupped a hand to his ear. "I can't hear you."

Sam threw a balled-up napkin at his head, and just smiled when Dean saw it coming and ducked.

The End