Title: Heavy

Words: about 1300

Pairing: None, gen.

Rating: PG-13 or soft R for bad language.

Characters: Sam, Dean.

Disclaimer: Not mine

Warnings/ Notes: Blind!Dean 'verse. Even more angst than usual.

Dean has been lying on his bed for hours, unable to fall asleep. He obviously had gotten it wrong, from beginning to end. He could have looked for dad on his own, but no - he wanted Sam to come with him, so they could shoot some scary sons of bitches together. At the back of his brain, he was certain that Sam was going through that teenage rebellion thing, and that, eventually, he'd sober up and realize that a hunter didn't belong with those preppie kids.

But Sam was never much for the hunt, even before Stanford. He wanted to do his homework, spend time in extra-curriculum activities…all those things that made Dean wonder if the real Sam was switched at birth. He didn't get the whole normality thing back when Dad was alive, but he got it now, sort of.

Dean lifted his hands up like scales. On the right scale, there were a degree from an IV league university and marrying a hot blond. On the left scale, there was…lots of shit. He let his hands sink back onto the mattress.

Sam could still make it, Dean thought. Maybe not the same way as before, and probably not the same university, but he could still get that degree, go to law school, etc. etc. The kid was damn smart, good-looking (in his geeky way) and knew how to fit in. Only these days, Sam had his big brother to consider.

He was a liability. As long as he was around, Sam would never fit in again, because Dean never fitted in, and Sam was stuck with him, blindness and ruined face and lack of manners

All right, thought Dean, as he stumbled for the third time. Maybe that wasn't his most brilliant idea. He thought he had it figured out, more or less. He had called a cab company the day before, after Sam went to bed, and asked a cab for 6:00 AM. He got up at 5:30, packed up what he could find, and pulled out his Real Emergency money. He never thought that walking the straight line he remembered from the first day would be so hard without Sam's arm to guide him. He straightened himself and kept walking, his hands stretched out, until he reached what had to be a gate.

"You Winchester?" Dean heard an uncertain voice as he felt for the handle.

"Yeah," replied Dean, opening the gate. Gritting his teeth, he added, "say, can you help me to the car?"

"You sure about that, pal? Because I have to say, you don't look up for a ride. How about I'll help you back inside, ha?"

"I'm fine," said Dean quickly. Why couldn't the idiot just help him and shut up?

"My aunt is waiting for me at the bus station," he assured the driver.

"If you're sure," said the driver, taking him by the shoulder.

Sam woke up with a bad feeling. From outside the window, he could hear a car's engine, probably one of their neighbors wanting to get a head start.

The clock showed 6:04 AM, and Sam was tempted to go back to sleep, but the something wasn't right feeling refused to go away. Groaning, He got up and shoved his feet into his slippers. Just a quick tour around the house, and back to bed.

Dean's room was right next to his, and he opened the door slowly, careful not to wake his brother. He shouldn't have bothered, though, because room was empty. The closet and the drawers were open, as if someone was in such a hurry he didn't have the time to tidy things up, was trying to find things without being able to see them, or both.

"Damn!"

Sam moved his hand in his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. Panic wasn't going to do him any good. He should have known this would happen, really. Dean took off, on his own, to God knows where, God knows how long ago.

Sam grabbed his wallet, cell phone and car keys, and ran outside. Dean was nowhere to be seen. Sam doubted that Dean would just wander aimlessly around the neighborhood, though. He probably had some sort of a plan how get away. Sam tried Dean's cell - no answer.

It shouldn't be that hard to find him – a blind person, without anything or anyone to guide him, would be very noticeable. However, Dean could be practically anywhere by now, and what good would it be people noticing him, if Sam had no idea where he went?

He dialed another number. "Bobby, have you heard from Dean?" He asked without introductions.

"Not since I visited you two," said Bobby, "is something wrong?"

"He's gone," said Sam. "Took off while I was asleep. Let me know if you hear from him, okay?"

"Sure thing. Let me know when you find him, so I can kick his ass."

"I'm planning on doing the ass-kicking myself, but thanks." Sam hung up. Think, he told himself. Dean had to have some meaning of transportation, and he had heard a car a while ago… a cab, perhaps?

After calling five cab companies, and lots of bullshiting, Sam finally got to talk to the driver who drove Dean ("Got messed up in Iraq, you're saying? That Goddamn place. Thought he looked odd, scars and all that. I dropped him at the central bus station.")

Still wearing his pajama and slippers, Sam started the car.

Sam was never as relieved as at the moment he located Dean from across the street, standing in front of the bus station and looking terribly lost. Without thinking, he reached out with his power and wrapped it around Dean's waist, immobilizing him.

"Fuck!" The few people at hearing range all turned.

"Damn right," murmured Sam as he ran across the street. He replaced his mental hold with a firm grasp of Dean's arm.

"Sam," said Dean in annoyance – he was annoyed! – "get off me."

Sam ignored him. "Dean," he said, breathless, "what the fuck?"

Dean shook Sam's hand off.

"Well, Sam," said Dean, "I'm," he stopped for a dramatic emphasis, "joining a rock band." He chuckled, "either that or the circus…"

"Would you be serious for one second?"

Dean lost his smirk. "Sam, I'm doing you a favor here."

"Dean!"

"Dude, I know my name, stop saying it."

"You're an idiot."

"Oh, Sammy. You say the sweetest things."

"Where did you think you were going?"

"Um…"

"You don't even know, do you?" asked Sam.

"Of course I know," said Dean.

"Where?"

"Bobby's junk yard. Thought he might want to ease your burden, or something."

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him. "You. Are. Not. A. Burden. Get that? He began thinking only a driller would get those words through Dean's thick skull.

"Saying something doesn't make it true, Sam," Dean sighed.

"Well, that doesn't need saying to make it true, because it was already true before, you ass!"

Dean sighed. "Whatever."

Sam was starting to feel, other than angry and worried, cold. His pants and t-shirt weren't up to such a long stay outside.

"Dean, can we talk about this at home? I'm freezing here."

Dean kept quiet for a moment, and then sighed again. "I guess you're not going to let me take that bus?"

"Not a chance," replied Sam.

"And if I tell you that it's the best thing to do?" asked Dean.

"Then I'll tell you that you're wrong," said Sam.

Dean's hand took hold of one of Sam's, which was still on his shoulder.

"Wouldn't want you to catch a cold, Sammy…let's go back to suburbia."