The doctor didn't have good news. He knew that just from the way she said his name when she entered his room, soft and professional like she was telling him someone had died. His heart immediately sank, but he forced a smile onto his face and turned towards her as she made her way to stand next to his bed.

"So, what's the verdict," he made himself ask her lightly, like they were talking about the weather. He knew what she was going to say. If it had been an easy fix, they would have done something by now. A day and a half of tests and a consult with a neurologist followed by a solemn doctor's visit rarely meant anything good.

He could hear her shuffling through papers before she cleared her throat and said, "You have what we call cortical blindness. This happens when something interferes with the optic nerve, usually through trauma to that region of the brain. It's not uncommon for people with this type of blindness to retain what some call blind-sight. Usually this encompasses sensing motion, a narrow field of vision, and/or, as in your case, light and dark. You are a bit unusual in that both eyes have been affected equally. The good news is that your eyes are physically fine."

Sam snorted. So he wouldn't look like freak. Great.

The doctor ignored him and plowed on through her explanation. "Now, cortical blindness is tricky. Often the prognosis is good. While many patients may not have a full reversal, it is typical for this type of blindness to improve over time. I do have to warn you, in cases where the cause is a blow to the head, that chance is significantly smaller."

Sam felt his headache reappearing. He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "What are you saying?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dr. Kinder said. "It might get better. It might not. I'm optimistic that you'll have some improvement, but there's no real way to tell except to give it time."

Sam felt the tension go out of him. People didn't just randomly go blind and then miraculously get their vision back. He knew that. He had known this would be the best answer they could give him. At least now he knew. "How long?"

"Three months at the earliest. And that's if you get specialized help."

"Three months?" That surprised him. He had expected it to be like his sprained wrist. He figured they would tell him to give it a couple of weeks of rest. If it was going to get better, it would.

She shrugged. "These things take time and work to retrain your brain."

"Professional opinion," he said, bracing for the worst. He had plans to make. He couldn't be chasing Dean across the country and dealing with this at the same time. He would have to find an alternative solution if this was going be permanent. "What's the likelihood that I'll see again?"

The doctor grew quiet. "You have to understand; you sustained a serious head injury. That doesn't just go away. In fact, we've been monitoring you for seizures as a precaution."

"Please, just tell me."

"While this sort of thing can be unpredictable, I'd be prepared for the chance this will be a permanent condition. In most cases like yours, the patient regains some vision, but rarely makes a full recovery. Of course, the brain is a funny thing. It could correct itself completely, especially with proper therapy. It's impossible to say without some observation."

Sam tucked that knowledge away, but refused to get his hopes up. He could hardly call the blanket of lights and darks he found himself in vision, not in the strictest sense. Some improvement could be anything from making out vague shapes in his world of grey to occasionally needing readers and there were no guarantees. If the doctor was telling him this, she wasn't as optimistic as she said.

Of course, there was still another possibility. "Could it get worse?"

"It's extremely unlikely. You're past the worst of the head injury and you seem to be healing well. No other brain damage is evident. The best way to prevent the condition from worsening is to avoid future head trauma."

"So you're saying I'm blind, and I'm going to stay that way."

She sighed. "I'm saying it's hard to know what might happen, but it never hurts to learn how to adapt. I can recommend a rehabilitation center that's not too far from here. I strongly suggest enrolling there. They can work with you to increase your independence."

Sam fell silent. This was too much. All too much. Dean was missing, Cas was in bad shape and getting worse every day, and now this. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with this.

The doctor cleared her throat.

Sam braced himself. He was a Winchester. He would stow his crap until he had time to deal with it. Right now, with questions about his insurance becoming more and more likely every day, he had to focus on getting himself together enough to get out of the hospital. "Thanks doc," he said, trying not to sound too bitter. "When can I leave?"

"I don't think –"

"You said three months, right?"

"Yes, but – "

"Then, three months. Until then, I can't sit around here."

She shifted, and he knew she was giving him that skeptical look that he got from just about every doctor he'd ever visited. "You need to consider what happens next. If nothing else, I'd like for you to meet with the district's mobility specialist to get you started on the skills you need. I've already called ahead and she can be here in two days. I'd like to keep you under observation until then anyway."

"Sorry, doc. I'm not much of a sit and wait kind of guy. I appreciate what you've done, but it's time for me to get going."

Not to be dismissed, Dr. Kinder pressed on, steel in her voice. "Then consider where you'll go," she said. "I can of course put in a referral to Brookhaven for you, but you should think about the immediate future. This condition is brand new to you. It would be irresponsible of me not to ask how you plan to care for yourself. Is there someone we can call? Any family you can stay with?"

"Maybe." Sam hesitated. He'd already toyed with the idea of calling Cas, but he had put it off. Cas had his own problems. Every time they spoke he sounded worse. Sam was sure he was hiding just how bad things really were.

Dr. Kinder must have read his uncertainty. Her voice was gentle when she asked, "What is it?"

Sam deflated. He wasn't going to be able to do this on his own. Not this time around. "Can you…" He could feel his cheeks heating as he even considered asking for help. Even concussed coming down off that mountain he'd been able to navigate his phone well enough to try and place a call. He shoved down the embarrassment. He was just going to have to live with needing the help for now. "Could you help me make a phone call?"

"Of course."

Sam nodded. He grabbed his phone from its spot on his night stand and held it out to her. She took it from him and after a few seconds let him know she was ready. He rattled off the number. The doctor dialed for him then made a quiet exit when he took the phone back. Sam held it loosely against his ear, afraid of accidentally hanging up.

On the third ring, Cas picked up.

"Hello?" His gravelly voice sounded rougher than usual like he'd been sick recently. Sam knew right then that he didn't need the added stress of Sam's problems.

"Cas? Are you okay?"

Cas cleared his throat. He sounded a little more put together when he said, "Yes, of course. What did you need?"

Sam frowned. He didn't have a good excuse for calling and he really did need some help, even if it was just some advice. "I hit some trouble," he said.

"What kind of trouble?"

"I…" Sam hesitated, unsure how much to say. "I got banged up pretty bad on this last hunt. I –"

"I can't heal you anymore." Sam wilted. Of course Cas would think that.

"No, I know," he rushed to say. "It's not that. I –" Sam broke off as Cas started coughing, a deep hacking that rattled in his chest. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine. Continue."

"Look," Sam said, losing what nerve he had. "I don't want to bother you. I know you're not feeling so hot. I'll call you later."

"Wait!" Sam flinched. The panic in Cas's voice surprised Sam enough to make him pause. "Don't hang up."

Sam didn't hang up, but he wasn't sure what to say at that point either.

When the silence stretched unbearably Cas said, "Sam?"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"What did you call about? What trouble did you get into?"

He sounded genuinely worried. That hadn't been Sam's intention at all. "I," Sam swallowed. "I'm in the hospital. That wendigo did a number on me and, well, I didn't know who else to call at this point."

"Where? What name are you under?"

"Claiborne Medical Center. Used Singer. I wasn't sure which ID I had in my wallet when they were asking me questions."

"I'm on my way."

"No, Cas. You don't have to do that. I just," Sam trailed off.

"What is it, Sam? What's wrong? How bad were you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Just needed to hear a friendly voice," Sam said, trying to salvage the situation.

"Oh. I'm unsure what to say."

Sam chuckled. He had to blink back the frustrated tears that threatened to fall. "You don't have to say anything. The nurse is coming now. I was just calling to say hey, really. And to let you know I'll be out of commission for a little while. Listen, I'll call you when they release me, okay?"

"Sure."

"Okay, bye Cas."

"Good –"

Sam ended the call and let the cell fall into his lap. He would just have to do this solo. That was fine. He had picked himself back up after worse injuries than this. It wasn't even the first time he'd woken up in a hospital alone. At least this time he could walk without crutches.

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. It might not have been the first time, but it still stung. Between the long days of being a lab rat and the drug cocktail they were weaning him off of, he hadn't really had time to realize he was alone. Now, left to his own thoughts, the little ten year old version of himself that seemed to pop up, needy and demanding whenever he was hurt, just wanted his big brother.

Sam fell asleep that night thinking about where Dean might be and what he would be doing. He didn't think about demons or the mark. He imagined Dean in some random bar, drinking too much whiskey and smiling wildly at the hot waitress that kept throwing him flirty looks. It didn't really fill in the desire he was trying to shove down under his rationalized practicality, but it made him smile nonetheless.

By eleven the next day, Sam wasn't sure anything could make him smile. He'd gone another round with the doctor, this time making it very clear he was leaving. He didn't much care if he signed the mountain of forms or not. Dr. Kinder hadn't been happy, but she'd agreed.

After the doctor left to find a nurse, Sam let himself relax back into his bed. It wasn't exactly comfortable. The mattress was thin and the blankets were scratchy and stiff, but he spared a moment to be glad he had woken up in the hospital and not in a car on the side of the road. At least here someone was almost always available to help him if he needed it. The idea chafed and he tried very hard to not ask, but even he had to admit he wouldn't have managed on his own.

He couldn't help the grimace that crept up on him. He was practically useless now. He couldn't hunt. He couldn't drive. He couldn't even reliably feed himself much less cross the street on his own or pick out his clothes. Every day he spent in the hospital hammered home just how much of a burden he had become.

Dr. Kinder seemed to think he would be able to live independently. He had only been blind for three days and already he could tell sentences like that were going to get really old. What good was living independently if he couldn't do the things he needed to do? He needed to find his brother. He needed to help Cas somehow. He needed to be able to drive, and read, and shoot a gun. But instead, he was lying in a hospital bed wasting entire days away with nothing to show for it.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew he could live with this. With enough training he could probably even manage most of his daily life without help, but that was going to be a long, hard road. It was a battle he wasn't sure he even wanted to fight.

He shook his head. This was his reality now. He was blind and the sooner he got over it, the sooner he could get back to solving the bigger problems he was facing. Sam indulged in another second of self-pity to wonder when exactly becoming blind had become the smallest, least demanding obstacle in his life.

With a frown he refused to follow that thought. He had to get his head on straight. He was alive and had people counting on him. If he wanted to prove that he wasn't a complete waste of space he was going to have to buckle down, work harder than ever, and figure out how to solve his own problems for once in his life.

When he heard the shuffle of shoes hesitating outside his door, he forced a smile onto his face. That would probably be the nurse with his papers. "Karen," he called. He couldn't help the little bit of genuine amusement creeping into his tone. The nurse was starting to grow on him. She was so cheery he couldn't help but like her. "Come on in. You know I know you're there."

He was thoroughly unprepared when a low, rough voice announced, "It's not Karen."

Sam bolted upright. His brain was busy trying to decide if he was more nervous or relieved at the prospect of Cas appearing in his hospital room. He hadn't expected the angel to come and he certainly hadn't been prepared to break the news this way. At the same time, he felt some of the tension he'd been carrying relax with the arrival of someone he trusted to watch his back.

Sam cleared his throat, realizing he hadn't actually said anything. "Cas? You came?"

"I thought you might need some help after we spoke on the phone." There was that open sincerity that Sam knew was going to make this so much harder. He didn't miss the undertone of misgiving lacing the words.

Instead of addressing the elephant in the room, Sam gave him a tight smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to have to make that drive."

There was a pause that made Sam want to squirm. He knew without a doubt that Cas was giving him one of those piercing stares that seemed to see directly into his soul. Finally, Cas asked, "Can you see me at all?"

Sam froze. Something about the way Cas asked made the simple fact seem even more unbearable. "Oh," he said, not sure what to say exactly. "Um, no."

Cas moved further into the room towards Sam, stopping a few feet short of the bed. "What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I finally met one concussion too many."

"I fail to see how that qualifies as fine," Cas bit out. "Even by Winchester standards."

Sam flinched at the accusation, but he didn't rise to the bait. He just shrugged. "I'm alive."

Cas sighed and took the last few steps up to be a comfortable distance for the conversation. "You should have told me sooner."

"You're not doing so hot now either," Sam reminded him. He didn't appreciate feeling like a scolded child. He had reasons for not dumping this in Cas's lap. "I didn't want to put more on you."

"Aren't we friends?"

Sam sucked in a breath at the question. "Well, yeah," he said, confused. Didn't Cas know that by now? "Of course we are. You're basically family at this point."

"Mmm," Cas said. "As I understand it, family helps one another."

Sam shifted so that he was facing Cas more directly. "There's really nothing to do," he admitted.

"I –"

Cas cut himself off as the door flew open and Karen came bustling in with her usual aplomb. "Afternoon Sam," she said. "Dr. Kinder sent me. Are you ready for…. Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had a visitor."

Sam bit back a smile at her surprise. "It's fine."

"Are you Dean," she wanted to know. Sam felt the embarrassment oozing off him. He hadn't talked about Dean at all since the concussion had cleared up, but apparently he'd been quite the topic of conversation before that. Sam didn't remember any of those conversations.

"No, Dean's –" Cas started to explain the situation, but Sam had already told the cops a cover story and he couldn't afford to have anyone looking too hard at him right now. He jumped in to say, "Out of the country right now. This is my cousin Cas. Cas, Karen, the day nurse around here."

"Hello," Cas said.

"Oh, right. Hello. Nice to meet you. I'll just come back later."

Sam shot up. She hadn't made a secret of wanting Sam to stay and he wasn't about to let her slip away while he was distracted. "Wait! Did you bring those papers?"

"Yes," she said. Sam hadn't missed the way her tone had gone hard. "But I really wish you'd change your mind."

"Papers?" Cas asked.

Sam nodded. "Discharge papers. I'm headed out of here this afternoon."

"He means his A.M.A. papers," Karen added, helpfully.

"What does she mean, Sam?" And dammit. Cas could make just about anything sound accusing. Sam was a grown man for crying out loud. And he was fine. A few bruised ribs and a cracked wrist that he barely felt at this point. He was practically the Winchester picture of rosy-cheeked health.

"I'm not sitting around this hospital playing patient for weeks," Sam snapped.

Karen seemed to know when she couldn't win a fight. She sighed and said, "At least tell me you've been considering Brookhaven."

Sam snorted. "I don't have much choice, do I? Besides, they'll teach me how to walk like a big boy there, so there's no need for me to hang around here." He wasn't bitter about that – not at all.

"Sam," Karen snapped. "Don't think that way. It's not the end of the world. Just the opposite."

"I already told the doc I'd go," Sam said. "She was going to make the referral call."

"What is Brookhaven," Cas asked.

"It's the local rehabilitation center for the blind," Karen explained. "They'll help Sam get back on his feet and teach him what it's going to take to live independently again."

Sam felt his posture sag at that. It felt like all the fight had just drained out of him. Instead he was tired. "Is that what you want," Cas asked.

Sam sank back against the pillows, waving off the question. "It doesn't matter much what I want. It's what I need. You know the kind of life we have. I have to be able to be somewhat independent. I have to do this."

"Okay," Cas said. "I'll help however I can."

"Cas…" Sam said, at a loss. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking. I'm doing it. We are family after all."

Sam smiled the first genuine smile he'd had since waking up. Things may have gotten flipped upside down, but at least he had one person in his corner. "Okay," Sam said. "Let's get these paper signed."

Now that freedom was almost his, he couldn't wait to be out of the hospital. He wanted to go back to the motel, shower the smell of antiseptic off his skin, and put on his actual comfy clothes. He wouldn't mind a nice, big, greasy slice of pizza and a beer either.

Karen made a disproving noise, but dutifully stepped up next to him. The tray was swung over his lap and papers were placed down in front of him. Sam reached forward running his hand across them, but they might as well have been blank for all that he could tell about them.

He bit the inside of his cheek as a little pang of grief crept up on him. He could no longer read.

Karen, sensing his change in mood, bustled up beside him and placed a pen on the table nudging his fingers. Sam picked it up but hesitated, unsure what exactly he was supposed to do.

"Here we are," she said, brightly. "Give me your left hand."

Sam held his left hand out. She took it gently and placed his fingers on the page. With a quick sweep across, she added, "Here's the line. I just need your John Hancock and you'll be good to go." His hand returned to the left, presumably resting at the start of the line.

Sam reached over using his left hand as a guide and scrawled his signature, not particularly caring if it was neat. What was the point? It wasn't like he could see it. If it got him out of there, he'd sign whatever they put in front of him.

He knew Cas was somewhere in the room watching the proceedings. He wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or angry about the whole ordeal. Before he had time to settle on an emotion, Karen said, "Sam Singer, you are officially a free man. Doctor Kinder will call you with details about your move to Brookhaven. For now, your chariot awaits."

Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting them firmly on the floor. He frowned at Karen's comment. "No way in Hell am I getting in a chair."

"Hospital policy, I'm afraid."

"No." Sam had had enough of that wheelchair these last few days.

"Sam," Cas said. "Why not?" Sam didn't miss the way he was stepping in to stop the conversation from devolving again. In some ways, Sam was grateful for it. He hadn't had anyone there acting as a shield or asking what he wanted this entire time. It was nice.

"I am not being pushed around when I can't see where I'm going," Sam said. "Thanks, but no thanks. I have two feet. I'll walk." Sam had been stranded and manhandled just a little too often in this hospital to feel even remotely comfortable being wheeled anywhere.

"Not even to save my job?"

Sam grinned. "You're too good at your job to get fired over me. Besides, I'm leaving against medical advice. I'm officially not your problem anymore."

Karen harrumphed. "Fine. But you owe me, Singer."

"Sure," Sam said with a laugh.

She sighed but left with a quick admonishment to take care of himself. Sam pushed himself to his feet as the door clicked shut. It felt good to be standing. He had been so wary of bumping into things or breaking some expensive medical doohickey that he hadn't really trusted himself to explore the room. Nor did he want to trust his safety to some random nurse. He had stayed holed up in his room, bored out of his mind for days. He leaned back, feeling some of the kinks fall out of his spine.

Cas remained quiet as Sam took the opportunity to stretch and stand. Sam had packed his few belongings earlier in the day into the duffle bag Officer Pierson had brought him. He took a few tentative steps, hand held out at waist height to keep from running into anything and shuffled his way over to the wardrobe across the room where he'd left his bag sitting on a chair. He misjudged the distance. His knees rammed into the low seat of chair, nearly tipping it over. Sam reached out and grabbed the back before it could topple. He used it to regain his own balance before reaching a hand down to find his bag.

He hefted the duffle and swung it over his shoulder. Cas's silence in the wake of his bumbling made the heat start to rise in his neck. Sam turned towards the last place Cas had spoken from and said, "I had planned to take a cab to get back to my motel room. Are you checked in anywhere?"

"No," Cas said from nearer the door than Sam had expected. "I only just arrived."

Sam nodded. He shifted in place, not entirely sure how much he was allowed to rely on Cas. Finally he bit down his pride and ventured to ask, "Wanna help me break out? I'm not sure I know my way out."

"Oh! Of course." There was a swish as Cas came to stand beside him, almost uncomfortably close. Sam could feel the heat from Cas's arm where it was next to his own. "How do you want to proceed?"

Sam reached out a hand towards the voice, finding Cas's arm. He settled for a grip just above his elbow as the most comfortable position given their height difference. "You lead," Sam said with a lopsided expression. "I'll follow. Just steer us clear of walls and take the elevator."