Title: Blindly Walking

Summary: Sam is convinced something strange is happening in Oregon; Dean not so much. A suicide before their eyes convinces Dean that something is going on. From suicide, strange pictures and manipulated perceptions, the Winchesters find themselves doing what they do best.

Promise: If I break canon or make our dear boys love each other a little too much, I pray that the FF Gods will smite me good and hard until I can never write it again. I ask them to guide me down a path of good grammar and punctuation and never to let me fail. Amen!

Reviewers: Thank you to: hearts-4-stars, Minako Mikoto and Julian Read.

If you're reading, please take a moment to review. I'd really appreciate it.

₪

Monday, 11:30 AM

Dean and Sam sat in a table in the back of a coffee shop, the latter more awake than the former. Both sat with impeccably horrific posture and their hands were clutching coffee of his choice—one a double shot espresso with whipped cream, the other with a caramel macchiato and cinnamon. The silence was only punctured by the sipping noises they made as they consumed their drinks or by other people in the shop. It was a Winchester Quiet Moment.

"Sooner or later we have to talk about it," Sam said, eying his brother and almost daring him to disagree.

"I was going for later." Dean replied nonchalantly, taking another swig of his drink and making no motion toward talking about what was beginning to seem like a case. Sam's eyebrows shot up without seeking permission from Sam's brain.

"Dean, people are dying left and right and you expect me to let you finish your coffee in peace?" Sam asked, feeling more incredulous than anything else. He glanced around to make sure no one had heard him.

"Yes, Sam, I do."

Sam drummed his fingers on the small table, being as annoying as he could right up until Dean finished his coffee. Dean made sure to take an extra long time taking his last few sips of coffee until he was sure Sam was about ready to throw his own drink at him. Then he decided it was time to play Sammy's way.

"You're done," Sam said forcefully, pulling the cup from Dean's mouth and setting it violently down on the table with a thunk.

"Okay, okay! Don't get your panties in a bunch. Sheesh." Dean gave Sam an older brother look and then settled differently in his seat so he could lean in and talk with Sam without his voice carrying. "So whatcha got?"

"What do you mean, what've I got?" Sam demanded.

"Well, you seemed so antsy to talk about the case. I thought maybe you might have had something helpful and interesting to say. Apparently I was wrong?" Dean gave him an innocently questioning look, but Sam could see right through it.

"This is the part where we bounce ideas around," Sam said pointedly, trying to keep annoyed gesturing to a minimum. "And the part where you pretend not to be an idiot and we come to some kind of conclusion."

"Alright, alright. Man, you need to chill sometimes. A lot of times, really, but I'd settle for sometimes." Dean flashed Sam a half smile.

"Dean." Sam was getting annoyed now.

"Okay, so this red picture," Dean said, cutting Sam's wrath short and bringing the conversation sharply back to the case. His "focus face" was starting to appear and his forehead was wrinkling with the effort of thinking. "What the hell do you even think it is?"

"I don't know what to think of it," Sam said, relaxing back in his chair and letting his mind drift back to the amount of information they had garnered. "It's just some red, crooked picture that scared Jennifer and looks suspicious. That's not a whole lot to go on, nor is it much of a basis for any kind of case that I can think of."

"Then maybe you're thinking of it wrong," Dean said, a truly thoughtful look crossed his features.

"Then tell me what's right. How are we supposed to be thinking of this?" Sam said, sitting back and crossing his arms, waiting for Dean to explain himself.

"You're looking at the picture as a cause," Dean said. He pulled a napkin over to himself and doodled something Sam couldn't see. "You're looking at it like it has to be the thing that's making other events take place. Don't do that."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know, man," Dean said. "But it just can't be what's causing normal, happy people to kill themselves. It just doesn't work."

"So you're saying the photo is irrelevant?" Sam asked. He had no idea what Dean was even thinking anymore, which didn't really separate this moment from a large majority of the time he spent with his brother.

"No, I'm saying it's something different. But it's definitely relevant." Dean said as he and Sam left the coffeehouse. Sam found that he had plenty to think about.

₪

Tuesday, 7:30 AM

Dean walked into their hotel room and slapped a newspaper down next to Sam, who was sitting at a table and reading through some research material both from their father and the internet. Sam was getting nowhere and it frustrated him. He glanced up and caught the expression on Dean's face.

"Dude, wha—" Sam started to ask. Dean cut in, not giving Sam even the smallest amount of time to finish.

"It happened again," He said, pointing to a particular article on the page of newspaper closest to Sam's face. Sam's eyes slid quickly over the main parts of the article, trying to get information. Dean didn't give him the time.

"I'll tell you. Happy guy, great life, fiancé, the whole nine yards. Again. And then he killed himself. It fits everything we've been seeing in patterns so far."

"And you think it's the same precisely? You think it's related to this string we don't know is real or not?" Sam asked. He hated to think of the hypocritical role reversal that was happening here, but if they were wrong they could further damage an already grief-stricken woman.

"Yeah, I do," Dean said. "And I'll be damned if I'm gonna let this picture disappear again."

Sam wanted to argue with him. He wanted to try and make Dean see reason and think a little more about his actions before they went gallivanting off in pursuit of a strange picture they had no evidence of whatsoever. He wanted to.

"Where to?" Sam asked, the tone of resignation creeping into his words. He could see that even if he found some reasonable doubt for his strange feeling, Dean wasn't going to listen to a single thing he said. Dean already had his mind made up.

"Our favorite place. A town just off the Deschutes."

₪

The Impala roared up a rolling cement and cobblestone driveway that led their gaze straight to the front of a well-made and Victorian style home. Sam could feel his breath catch in his throat as he slowly considered what was going on.

"Dean…"

No response.

Sam and Dean hadn't even taken time to collaborate a story about why they might be knocking on the door of a woman that had just lost her fiancé. They were simply planning to barge in and demand to see a picture? Sam thought not. Not that he was thinking a whole lot of anything. In fact, neither of them even thought much of their bold actions as they walked up to the front of her home through a nicely manicured lawn and cared for garden. It wasn't until the sound of the doorbell emanated out from the belly of the house that Sam even realized they had no justification for what they were doing here.

"Dean—"

"Shh."

The deep red colored door swung open and an old and angry-looking man's face met their eyes. His posture was crumpled and his hair was wiry. Though he had anger on his face, there was definite loss in his eyes. He looked the pair of them over and finally grunted, "What?"

"Hi," Dean said, trying to balance morose and pleasant mannerisms. "Are you Mister…" a slight pause made Sam want to wince and he silently prayed for Dean to have a burst of brilliance that could last, oh, five minutes.

"…Evans?" Dean asked after a small delay.

"Who're you?" The man demanded. It was hard to tell whether or not he believed Dean. In fact, it was hard to tell much of anything other than the fact that this man didn't want them here.

"We were pool buddies of John's," Dean said smoothly. Sam nodded. "We're here to talk with Melissa, maybe do what we can to comfort her." Dean was convincing, even Sam had to give him that. They garnered no reply.

The old man was unresponsive long enough that Sam was considering forcing Dean to leave with him and run to the Impala before the man magically had a shotgun. Eventually they got a reaction, though not an expected one.

"Fuck off."

While not the reaction they had wanted, it was enough to gain the attention of Melissa Evans who had been within the house. Her figure appeared behind the old man, first as a shadow then as a person.

"Who is it, daddy?" She asked quietly, blinking and brushing hair away.

"Some assholes that want to talk to you. I'm just fixin' to get rid of them."

The woman behind her father shoved her way in front of him. Squinting at the sunlight that was now infiltrating her eyes, she said, "Who are you?" Her voice was small and quavering and it was obvious to Dean and Sam that this woman was not finished with her grieving yet. They were interrupting her.

"I'm Sam and this is my buddy Ken," Dean said. Sam had no choice but to hold his breath and go along for the ride. "We were, uh, old friends of John—pool and stuff. We wanted to come by and see if there was anything we could do."

She looked at the two of them, her eyes threatening to let all of their tears spill out the second the surface tension broke. She was the perfect picture of a mourning woman and Dean could tell that Sam wanted to try and "connect" with her again. They didn't have time for that.

"We wouldn't come to talk to you if we didn't think it was important," Sam told her earnestly, meeting her eyes with one of those soul-searching expressions that made Dean want to gag. Both brothers said nothing more, waiting for her decision. The tension was growing in Sam's chest; he wanted to get somewhere on the case, but it just wasn't happening. If they couldn't get her to talk with them, they might have to wait for another person to die and Sam wasn't willing to do that unless he was pushed right to the edge. And he didn't want to be anywhere near the edge.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her eyes were slowly filling with tears again. "I don't… I just can't. Not right now. I'm sorry."

"Alright," Sam said and he crushed Dean's toes as he saw his brother's lips part to begin his protest. "We're sorry to have bothered you, Melissa. Please accept our—" Her father slammed the door resolutely in their faces.

"Well that was just great," Dean said in bad temper. "We had her and you let her go. What the hell was all that about?" Sam hushed Dean until they were back in the car.

"You really don't get it, do you?" Sam demanded.

"Don't get what?" Dean asked haughtily, jamming the key into the ignition. Sam yanked it back out.

"When someone that close to you dies—it doesn't matter how or why—you don't want to talk to anyone. You don't want to hear what they have to say, you don't want to think what they want you to think. Everything just dulls around you and all you can see is things you should have, could have… We weren't going to get anywhere by trying to force answers out of her that she wasn't willing to give. And I wasn't going to let you try."

"Give me the key." Dean said.

"Do you get it?" Sam asked, not obliging in the slightest.

"Dude, yes, now give me the key!"

₪

Thursday, 12:00 PM

"I cannot believe I let you convince me to do this." Dean was standing before Sam, dressed as a produce boy and standing by the entry doors, waiting. "Someone's gonna catch me."

"That's why I'm the backup plan," Sam said.

"Yeah, because you are too lame to go to jail. You're too worried about your permanent record. So we'll just let Dean do it."

"Basically." Sam straightened Dean's collar. "Now remember. Your name is Sam and you're a produce boy. You still want to console Melissa Evans about the loss of her fiancé, J—"

"Dude, I know. I'm not the idiot."

"Coulda fooled me."

"Shut the hell up and go pretend to be Mister Nancy Shopping Boy, okay?"

"Alright," Sam said and he wheeled a cart away to shop in the nearby aisles. He tried not to be amused at the sight of Dean dressed as a produce worker and both waited for Melissa to come into the store.

Forty five minutes later Dean went over to Sam. "Are you sure she was going to the store?"

"Yes."

"This store?" Dean pressed, gesturing vaguely to the building they were standing in.

"Yes. Go back over to the lettuce, it's looking lopsided."

As Dean went back to stacking vegetables in more acceptable pyramids, Melissa walked in the automatic doors and headed for the peaches, one aisle over from where Dean was. Dean saw her immediately and glanced at Sam to make sure he was paying attention. He was.

Slowly and inconspicuously Dean ended up rearranging the fruit two sections down from where she was. She looked up and saw him. "Sam?"

Dean looked up and over at his brother a moment before remembering that was, in fact, his own name right now. Then he looked at Melissa and smiled a little as he dropped an apple on his foot. "Melissa," he said, pretending the apple hadn't smashed his toe. "It's good to see you."

"It's definitely good to be out of the house," she said, forcing a smile on her face. It didn't reach her eyes. "Look, I feel like I need to apol—"

"No," Dean said, holding his hand up immediately. "No need for apologies. We should have been more considerate and not bothered you so soon."

"Well, thank you," she said. "It's been a hard few weeks around here. I mean, with John and Derek and Derek's brother all dying so close together, it's just been hard to deal with."

"Derek's brother?" Was the most intelligent thing Dean could think of to say. His mind had just been sent reeling with Melissa's words.

"Yeah, didn't you know?" She asked, giving him a quizzical look. "His brother died a few days before he did."

"No," Dean said truthfully. "I wasn't aware of that."

"Terrible," she said, shaking her head. "Well, I've got to get some groceries and then I'm going to meet some friends for coffee. Maybe I'll see you around."

The second she disappeared down the bread aisle Dean was ripping off the produce uniform and heading for Sam. "C'mon. We've got to get to the coffee house."

₪

Dean had flirted a coffee house uniform apron right away from one of the employees there and Sam now found himself outfitted as a worker. As Dean was with her in the back room—no doubt having a lot more fun than Sam was, trying to work the coffee bar—Melissa strode in the front doors. Judging by her face, she was finding it disturbing that she had run into both him and Dean that day.

"Ken?" She asked, her tone much more surprised than the first time around. "This is crazy. I just ran into Sam at the supermarket."

"Oh, really?" Sam asked, sounding like it was a minor surprise. "That's crazy." He yanked his hand away from the coffee machine as he nearly scalded his hand with boiling water. "It's good to see you're out and about again."

"It had to happen sometime," she said. She looked around and then at Sam's apron, which still had the nametag of Tiffany across it. "How… long have you worked here?"

"Oh, not very long," Sam said. "They haven't even got me a nametag yet!" He laughed a little and smiled. She seemed convinced.

"I'm sorry about how I acted when you and Sam came by to talk with me," She said. "Looking back on it now I wasn't hospitable at all, but at the time…"

"I know," Sam said. "I know what it's like to lose someone you love."

"It's tough, isn't it?"

"No one else can understand the pain." Sam replied cheerfully. "What would you like?" He asked.

"Mm," she glanced at the menu behind him. "I think I'd like a large vanilla mocha frappaccino."

"Alright," he set to pretending he knew how to even begin making her order. He continued talking to her as he fumbled through the coffee bar. "I do have a question to ask you," he said. "And it's going to seem weird."

"Okay…" she said.

"Have you developed any pictures lately?" Sam pressed a blue button that spat out whipped cream into the bottom of her cup. So she'd be getting it extra creamy.

"Yeah," Melissa said, not noticing his terror at operating the coffee machine yet. "Last week, why?"

"I was just wondering if something John told me was true." Sam said. "He told me there was this really bizarre picture that came out in the batch and that it was, like, purple or something?"

"Red," Melissa corrected. "Yeah, it was weird. And all crooked."

"What was in it again? Some psychedelic 70s room?" Sam asked, pounding on another button, only to find that it wasn't a button at all. He finally put some coffee base into her drink. "He said it was all bizarre looking and like there was a thing on the couch."

"It was some weird, white shape," she said offhandedly, "and the room looked like my living room, but I have definitely never had it decorated that way."

"What happened to the picture?" Sam asked, puking vanilla syrup into her cup now via some strange looking nozzle.

"John took it with him to work Monday to show his friends," she told him. "He took the negative strip to prove it that it was real, too. He said no one would believe him if he just took in the print. So I don't even have that strip of negatives."

"Oh," Sam said, silently cursing. He didn't have time to be distracted as the blender was now wanting to spit out the vile coffee mixture he had created. He stopped the blender and handed her the drink. "Well, I'll catch you later," he said, "I've gotta get going."

"Okay…" she said, watching him disappear into the back room. She took a drink of her coffee and made a face. "Disgusting."

In the back room, Sam returned Tiffany her uniform and pried Dean off of her. "Come on, man,"

"Call me," Tiffany said to Dean who flashed her a smile and disappeared out the back door with Sam. Sam ran his hand through his hair.

"So?" Dean prodded.

"Nothing." Sam said.

"What do you mean, nothing?" Dean demanded.

"She doesn't have the picture, either. He took it with him to show his buddies the day he died. We aren't gonna be able to get a hold of a copy of this picture this way. We have to get the picture before someone disappears with it."

"What now?" Dean asked, looking at Sam.

"Find a 1 hr photo place." Sam said.

₪

Sam was standing in the middle of some magazine racks, pretending to be idly looking at the racecar magazines while he watched Dean through the cracks in the racks. If he were paying any attention to the magazine, he would have noticed the nearly naked girl sprawled across a hot rod car.

Dean sidled over to the techs working in the photo area. Sam couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were starting to laugh. Dean continued his schmoozing and Sam continued pretending to be doing something other than spying.

"Don't screw up, Dean." Sam warned his brother in a voice far too low for Dean to have heard him.

Dean laughed at some stupid joke of the photo techs said and did his best not to roll his eyes. They were really just college kids trying to scrape together some money. He found it rather easy to convince them that he could help them waste away the day if they talked with him.

"Gotta pack back to PSU later this month," one of the guys, the one with the dark hair, said pulling out developed prints from a dark case; Dean had no idea how it worked. Nor did he care. His goal was much simpler than understanding the mechanics of the photo developers.

"I gotta go to community college," the other tech said. His hair was long and blonde and Dean wanted to personally give him a hair cut. "So count yourself lucky."

Both turned their attention to Dean. "Where d'you go?" The dark haired tech asked Dean.

"Oh, uh," Dean scratched the back of his neck, hoping his discomfort would come across in a way that supported what he was saying. "I'm not the college type of guy," Dean said. "Couldn't afford it, couldn't use it. I never went."

"Rough," was the sympathetic reply he got.

"So whose photos are you workin' on right now?" Dean asked, leaning over the desk a little more to see what they were doing.

"Robinson. They live down the road. Annoying as fuck."

"Ah," Dean said.

"Jake, what the hell is this picture?" the light haired tech asked, gesturing his partner over to him. The other one went over and looked at the picture.

"That's some creepy shit, dude." The other one said.

"Can I see?" Dean piped up. They turned to him and brought the print over to him, lying it on the counter before Dean. Dean got his first look at the picture he was starting to hear quite a disturbing amount about. "Woah," he said, trying to sound normally surprised. "Got the negative?"

"Uh, yeah, somewhere. Jake, go look in that bin." With the techs otherwise distracted, Dean grabbed the print and ran. He and Sam had made it out the door before the photo techs had realized anything.

"You got the picture?" Sam asked.

"I got the picture."

"And?"

"It's some creepy shit." Dean handed Sam the picture. None of the descriptions thus far had done the photo justice.

The frame of the picture was tilted at almost forty five degrees, but the picture's reference angle was even off, as if you were looking down into the room from an angle as well. The entire room looked like it was from a bygone era—the 70s like everyone had been describing. Everything from the style of the lights to the pattern on the floor screamed this definitely. A lamp stood in the back right corner and it illuminated strange artwork on the back walls.

Nothing was easily discerned because the entire picture was glazed over in a solid wash of eerie red shading. The brightest thing other than the lamp was a lightened figure sitting on the couch. It's posture was slumped, like someone had arranged a rag doll or a corpse into a sitting position. A small line of what looked like blood ran from its head to its neck.

The remainder of the room was fuzzy and nothing else was easy to see.

"Whose was this?" Sam asked.

"Someone just down the street."