"She took them, Sammy. She took my eyes."
Sam gently turned Dean's face toward the lamplight, hoping to get a better look. While he saw that Marcia hadn't really, physically, removed Dean's eyes, and replaced them with her own, it appeared to Sam that she had somehow transferred her scars to Dean's eyes.
Sam didn't miss the fact that Dean's eyes were red and teary, either.
"Does it hurt? Can you see anything?" he asked.
"Burns… like they're dried out," Dean replied, matter-of-factly. "Everything's black. What do they look like, Sammy?" he whispered.
"Dean…"
"What do they look like!" he shouted.
"The gray scars, just like she had," Sam admitted.
"Goddammit, Sam! We gotta find that bitch! We gotta find her and find out what kind of fucking spell she used and… and… Aaaggh!" Dean slammed his hands down onto the bed in frustration. "I can't do a fucking thing, Sammy!"
He stood up quickly, wanting to pace the floor, punch something, get out of the room… anything but sit there. But Sam put his hand on his shoulder and urged him to sit back down.
"Okay, Dean, we'll find her. I promise, we'll find her," he told his brother. "I even have a lead, I think – I saw her driving a newer Honda, probably around six o'clock. Is that when it happened?"
"You saw her driving?" Dean asked. "At six? What time is it now?" he asked, standing up again, ready to go.
Sam didn't stop Dean from getting up this time. He knew it was too late to chase after her now. He looked at his watch anyway, though, and said, "About six or seven hours ago."
"Shit, Sammy, we'll never find her now." Dean put his hands on top of his head, scrubbing them through his hair, and sighed in frustration. The dizziness came back and he swayed a bit. Sam quickly caught him and gently guided him back to sit on the bed again.
"We will, Dean, we will," Sam said softly. "Now why don't you tell me what happened."
Dean took a deep breath, held it for a beat and let it out, nodding, willing the dizziness away. "We'd gotten right into it, as soon as we got back from the beach, and she… damn, right when we got to the good part… she asked me if I knew what she liked about me."
"She say anything else? Anything that sounded like a spell or incantation? Any… I don't know, sparks? Auras?" Sam pressed.
"She said, 'You have the most beautiful eyes,' and then, WHAM! this." He pointed to his eyes. "I tried to fight her, tried to break eye contact… but fuck, Sammy! It was like I was superglued to the friggin' bed!"
Sam nodded solemnly. "Okay, first things first: we gotta search the room. See if she left anything behind."
"You mean, you gotta search the room," Dean corrected bitterly.
"Fine. I'll search the room. You search your memory, see if you can remember anything or anyone else like this, someone transposing injuries or senses or… anything." Sam saw Dean reach up to rub his eyes and stopped him, saying, "Don't rub. Here, let's go to the sink, rinse 'em out, maybe that'll stop some of the burning."
Sam rose from the bed and urged Dean to rise as well. He gently turned his brother toward the bathroom and gave a gentle push. He stayed close, keeping his left hand on Dean's shoulder, slowly guiding him the few steps. Dean's hands were out in front of him, trying to feel his way there, already trying not to depend upon Sam. When he felt the doorway, he slowed and stepped over the threshold. Sam reached in and turned on the light and guided Dean to the sink. Dean reached forward and turned on the cold water.
"Just splash some into your eyes. Gently," Sam told him. "I'm gonna start checking the room."
Sam gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze and moved it down to gently rub his back a few times before turning to leave the bathroom.
Sam didn't know what to think. He was terrified, actually, too terrified to want to think. But he knew he had to. He knew he couldn't show his fear. He had to be the one in control, running the show now. Beyond the fact that Dean wasn't physically able to do anything at the moment, Sam wasn't sure if he was emotionally or mentally able to do anything.
"She said her family came here every summer," Dean called from the bathroom.
Sam shook his head and smiled, retracting his last thought. He pulled out the dresser drawers, and began examining them, looking for traces of anything Marcia may have had in them.
"We need to lean on the front desk guy. Find out everything we can about her and her family," Dean added.
"If she was telling the truth about all that," Sam replied, feeling up under the bottom of the dresser, and down onto the floor under it.
"I think she was." Dean stood in the bathroom doorway, facing the room now, dabbing a towel at his face. "There was too much detail in how she described the places around here."
Sam started over toward him, ready to lead him back to the bed, but Dean was already making his way.
"You okay?"
"That's a stupid question, Sam," he replied, just as he got near the bed.
"I mean… never mind. You're there."
Dean felt for the bed in front of him and sat down on it. He'd successfully avoided answering Sam's question. He wasn't okay. Far from it. Deep down, he was scared shitless, and he knew it. But in normal Dean fashion, there was no way in the world he would let Sam know that. He even thought it would be easier now to keep Sam from seeing through his tough guy image, since he wouldn't have to make eye contact…
"You find anything yet?" he asked.
"Nothing. Nothing in the dresser, anyway. I'm heading for the desk now." After Sam opened up the drawer there and moved the writing pad with the resort's letterhead, he asked, "So what do you think she is? Demon? Witch?"
"I've never heard of a blind demon or witch. They'd use their power to overcome any injury," Dean replied.
"Okay…" Sam went over to the refrigerator and opened it up. Moving a couple of cans of Coke, he found several small plastic baggies and bottles. "Dean," he called. "She's got ingredients or something – herbs, spices, maybe?"
"So maybe she just likes making her own potpourri."
"Dean, I think she made a potion of some sort. She didn't feed you anything did she? Or rub anything on you?"
"No."
"So then it must have been something to empower her," Sam thought aloud.
"Time to find her, Sammy," Dean decided. "Time to talk to the guy at the desk."
Sam took the items from the refrigerator and put them into his backpack. He reached for Dean and gently grabbed him by the elbow. "Come on," he said, steering him toward the door.
Before leaving the room, Sam took one last look around, making sure he had all of their belongings. Nodding in satisfaction, he closed the door and turned to face his waiting brother. Sam had to hold his breath for a minute, keep from letting his emotions out. Because he knew that even blind, Dean would sense his fear, and maybe even his pity. But it was hard for Sam not to feel those things as he watched his brother standing utterly still, his expression blank, his eyes, dull, gray and sightless.
"Let's go, Sam," Dean said, impatient.
Sam reached for Dean's hand ready to lead him down the hall.
Dean snatched his hand away, balking. "Dude! I'm not some little kid needs his hand holding!"
"So what do you want to do, instead?"
"Just…" Shit, Dean thought. He remembered how Marcia told him to lead her. "You walk ahead; I'll hold onto your elbow," he told Sam and did as he said.
Slowly but surely, the brothers made their way down to the lobby. Sam tried to fuss when they'd gotten to the stairwell, but Dean again argued and took hold of the handrail himself. He'd gotten most of the way down without tripping, Sam still worrying, telling him how many steps to go, encouraging him with "just a little further" remarks.
"Sam? How many dark places have we gone through? How many times did you forget your flashlight and we had to feel our way out of some of them? This isn't gonna be that hard!" Dean lit into him, feeling babied.
"This is different, Dean."
Dean ignored the remark. He knew it was different. He knew there was no literal 'light at the end of tunnel' or spare flashlight here. But he didn't do helpless. Didn't want to do helpless. He stumbled on the last stair as he lost his concentration. "Shit!" he cried and again tore himself from Sam's grip after his brother had stopped his fall.
Sam knew what was going on with Dean, to a point. Dean had been practically taking care of himself, if not the two of them for twenty years. To be suddenly so dependent on Sam, on anyone, would be something so against Dean's nature that he'd automatically be fighting against it. Sam believed Dean would even fight against their dad in this situation.
Sam opened the stairwell door and peered out, checking the hall. They didn't need anyone who may have seen Dean these past two days suddenly suspicious about him, or seeing his eyes. The people around this place would be likely to call an ambulance for him, thinking he had some nasty accident. But it was near two in the morning. There weren't going to be too many people up.
As they made their way to the lobby, Dean heard a television playing quietly. He figured it was the desk clerk.
Sam immediately led Dean to one of the couches in the lobby and pushed him down into it, saying, "Just sit here. I'll get what we need."
"Is it the old man working?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, so if he's been here long enough, he should be able to tell us something about Marcia."
At the sound of her name, Dean tried to stand up, wanting, needing, to be in on the 'interrogation' but Sam pushed him back down.
"I can do this, Dean," Sam. "But if he does know Marcia, and he sees your eyes, it's just gonna spook him."
"Nice choice of words there, Sammy."
"I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean… shit."
"Just do it, Dude," Dean said, pushing Sam away.
As Sam approached the desk, the man he'd seen at check-in was there.
"You work all the shifts here? Don't have anyone young and desperate enough to pull the all nighter?" Sam asked casually.
"Kid called in sick tonight," the man replied. "Your friend okay there?"
"Drank too much," Sam replied. "Which is why I need to ask you about one of your other guests." He saw the look of confusion on the man. "What can you tell me about Marcia Brody?"
"Marcia? That poor girl?"
Sam bit his tongue before continuing. "Yeah. See, she and my brother spent some time together today." Sam said it in such a way to infer what they were really doing, without having to say they were having sex. "And anyway, when he woke up before, she was gone, and so was his wallet."
"What? Marcia wouldn't do that! I've known her and her family for years!"
"So you know her well?"
"Have you seen her? The girl's blind!"
"So blind people can't steal stuff?" Sam said, accusingly.
"She's a sweet girl. And since the accident… you can't help feel for the girl and her family. She didn't steal his wallet," the man said adamantly.
"Okay, then, how about, maybe, she packed it by mistake, maybe it fell out of his pocket, onto something of hers?" Sam suggested. "Look, we just want to know how to find her, to find out if she does have my brother's wallet or not. You say you've known her for years, that she's a good person. I'm sure she'd want to return his wallet if she got it by mistake." When the man hesitated, Sam added, "I'd hate to have to call the police on this, if she's really the nice girl she seemed to be."
That clinched it for the man, and he started going through his registry. He wrote down Marcia's name, address and phone number. "I'm sure it's all a mistake."
Sam picked up the paper and put it into his jacket pocket. "How does she get here? Does someone drive her? Is her family here, too?"
"The evening manager called a cab for her tonight, to get her to the bus station," he replied. "Her family's gone now."
Sam nodded. "Thanks," he told him and walked back to Dean.
"I heard," Dean told him.
"Come on, lush," Sam said loud enough for Dean and the man at the desk as he pulled one of Dean's arms over his shoulder, helping his 'drunk' brother toward their room.
About half way down the hall, Dean asked, "Can he still see us?"
As soon as Sam said, "No," Dean pulled out of his arms and felt his way along the walls instead.
When they got to their room, Dean made his way to the bed in front of him and collapsed down onto it. Sam didn't miss the exhaustion and look of pain on Dean's face.
"Why don't we get some sleep first. Head out after breakfast?" Sam suggested.
"No," Dean argued, immediately sitting up again. "Pack up, Sammy. The sooner we find her the better." Sam was about to argue back, when Dean added, "With some spells and shit, the longer they work, the harder they are to reverse."
Sam nodded, and then realized that Dean wouldn't see that. He said, "Yeah," and began packing their stuff.
Both brothers hoped that they weren't already too late to reverse whatever it was that Marcia had done.
