=Title: Fumbling in the Dark

Author: Wincesteriffic Kaz

Info: A spell steals something precious from Sam and leads to a revelation between the brothers. Set early season 2 Dean/Sam

Author's Note: Ok at LEAST one more chapter. :D

Graphic depictions within.

Disclaimer: I don't own 'em but if I did…they'd never get dressed. Heh heh heh

~Reviews are Love~

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"Easy. Here ya go. Sweats, panties and a shirt." Dean grinned at Sam's bitch-face and patted his damp shoulder before moving quickly away.

"Funny, Dean." Sam rolled his sightless eyes and turned to his right. He bent and stretched his hand out as he took a step, relieved when he found the end of his bed on his own. He sat down and started feeling through the clothes in his lap. "We ordering in?"

"You actually hungry? Yeah, sure." Dean nodded and grabbed his phone. "I'll step out and call. Back in a sec." He made a hasty retreat as Sam pulled the towel loose from his hips and pulled the door shut behind him. "Christ, I need a cold shower… or a lobotomy."

Sam dressed as quickly as he was able, using the tags on his clothes to make sure he put them on the right way around and not inside out. When he was dressed, he sat on his bed with the damp towel in his lap and tried not to feel bereft without Dean in the room. "Get a grip, Sam," he told himself disgustedly but couldn't help picturing his brother's eyes and those full lips and the increasingly painful need to actually see them with his own eyes once more.

Chapter 2

Dean set the bag of food on the small table and started pulling burgers out. He watched his little brother's pale face as he stood from his bed. "You doin' ok?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah." How could he tell Dean that he was drowning in fear every time he was left alone? "Great. What'd you get?"

"Burgers. Come on. Three steps ahead. You got this." Dean smiled as Sam slowly made his way to the table and he took his brother's arm before he could run into a chair. "Ok, sit. Chair's right in front of you. I talked to Bobby. He said we need to figure out who the witch was, the one ghoul guy munched on." He grabbed Sam's hand and put it on top of a burger and then sat with his own. "Bobby said the dead chick's house should have a spell book or something that'll help us narrow down what the ghoul used on you."

"Makes sense. I'll…" Sam set his burger down and thumped back into his chair. "I'll just sit over here while you do all the research."

"Dude, take it easy." Dean frowned. "You're not useless."

"Right, because they write so many texts on lore in Braille." Sam threw his arms up in frustration. "If I even knew how to read Braille! Face it, Dean. I am fuckin' useless right now. A demon could come through that door and all I'd be good for is cannon fodder!"

"Ok. First of all, even without your eyes, I still trust you more than any other hunter we know and second…" Dean snorted, hoping he could defuse Sam's bout of self-hate. "…fodder? Really? Isn't that a type of animal crap?"

"What? No, it's…" Sam blew out a breath and put a hand over his face. "Sorry."

Dean put a hand on Sam's knee and squeezed for a moment before picking his burger back up again. "Don't worry about it. I'd be worried if you didn't PMS a little over this."

"Shut up." Sam rubbed his face and then reached out for his burger again, feeling around the table until he found it. "It's just… I can't get a handle on this. I mean…"

"I know. We'll get through this, Sam. I promise." Dean spoke firmly, trying to give his brother some hope. "You know Bobby's not gonna sleep 'til we figure this out."

Sam snorted. "Great. 'Cause he's loads of fun when he's sleep deprived."

"We'll just bring him a bottle of Hunter's Helper." Dean chuckled. "He'll be fine."

"Are we going to Bobby's?" Sam asked and bit into his burger.

Dean shrugged. "No reason to right now that I can think of. Unless you want to."

Sam shook his head. He didn't relish the idea of trying to navigate Bobby's house without his sight. Granted, he'd practically grown up there and knew the place inside and out. Without being able to see, however, it was a whole different ballgame, and Bobby would be one more person to see him fumbling uselessly about. "No, I'm good here for now. We'd just be in his way."

"Ok, here it is." Dean watched Sam eat and knew his brother was afraid that he'd be the one in the way if they went to Bobby's and that was ridiculous. He sat back and took a deep breath. "Sammy, you know that whatever happens, I'm gonna be right here with you, right? I'm not sayin' you're gonna stay blind 'cause you're not, I'm just saying if it did happen, which it won't, I'd be here, dude. We'd be okay."

Sam pulled his head up, wishing he could see what was no doubt a goofy attempt at a comforting smile on Dean's face and gave his own, small smile. "That was… almost comforting, Dean. C for effort."

"Hey, that was at least an A minus, dammit." Dean snorted a laugh and kicked the leg of his brother's chair. "You're not alone is what I'm trying to get through your thick skull."

"I know. I do." Sam finished his burger and leaned back in the chair. He closed his eyes to stop himself blinking furiously, as though trying to clear his vision and sighed. "It's just hard to deal with, you know?" He turned his face toward where he thought his brother was and put on a smile. "You know, you'd finally have to let me have a dog if I get stuck this way."

"Oh, hell no. We're fixing you." Dean appreciated the attempt at humor and stood, clearing the table. "Not havin' any wet mutt on my baby's upholstery."

Sam chuckled sadly and listened to Dean move around the room. He heard him set a heavy bag on the table and thought it sounded like his laptop bag. "There's a folder on the desktop for my research. Should be a list of victims in there, so we… so you can figure out who the witch was."

Dean pulled the laptop out and picked up the television remote. "Why don't you listen to the tv or something while I wade through this? Gotta be more exciting. Here."

Sam felt the remote tap his shoulder and he grabbed it. "Yeah. Sure." He rose carefully and turned in the direction he thought his bed was in, relieved when a moment later his toes bumped the bottom and he sat, pushing back to lean against the headboard. "Where's the tv again?" he asked, holding up the remote.

"Your left," Dean replied and decided not to mention that Sam was laid out on his bed instead of his own. There was no point making the kid feel worse than he already did, and Sam would. He was just like that. He sat back down and turned on the laptop with a silent plea that Bobby would find a way to reverse this nightmare before Sam sank into depression and anger.

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Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala and fumed. "I'm not staying here."

"And you're not going in, so get over it!" Dean lowered his voice with difficulty and watched the stubborn look on his brother's face. "Dude, how are you gonna back me up in there right now?" He felt like an ass for saying it, but Sam needed to accept that until he got his sight back, going into a dangerous situation was off the damn menu. Dean had already relented enough to allow him to come and stay in the car. "Sam. Look, the witch is long dead. She got munched by a ghoul, remember? I'm just searching her house for her grimoire. No big deal."

"And what if she trapped the place?" Sam demanded. "What then? You need backup!"

"And I have it! If I don't come out of that house in an hour, I know you'll call the cops and get help." Dean slid a hand onto Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "It sucks, ok? I know that and I hate leavin' you out here, but I can't take you in with me, Sammy. You know that."

Sam kicked the floorboard and thumped his back into the seat in resignation. "Fine. Twenty minutes, though. I don't hear from you in twenty, I'm calling the damn cavalry if you don't call me first, and I don't care if they catch you sniffing her underwear drawer, got it?"

"Dude, I don't sniff." Dean smiled and thumped his brother's shoulder. "I fondle. Twenty minutes. Sit tight."

Sam listened to him slide out of the car and blew out a breath. "Where the hell am I gonna go?"

Dean stood in front of the car for a moment looking at Sam's angry face and hated having to leave him there. "Sorry, little brother," he whispered and turned away. He jogged up to the little white house that had belonged to Nancy Carter, resident Tupperware lady and witch and went around the back. No reason for the neighbors to get a show, if anyone was even looking.

The back door was locked and Dean made quick work of picking it, knowing he was on the clock. He didn't doubt that Sam was counting in his head and would make that call after twenty-one minutes. Dean snorted. More likely the idiot would try to find his way across the yard and into the house on his own and that scared Dean into moving even faster.

Dean walked into the house, closing the door behind him and looked around the darkened kitchen. "Wow. Lady, you liked Tupperware way too damn much." The plastic containers were stacked in neat rows along every counter space with handmade labels on the front of each that he couldn't read without his flashlight and didn't bother trying. It had been nearly a month since she died, and a thin layer of dust coated everything as Dean moved out of the kitchen and into her living room.

"Oh, man." Dean groaned and shook his head. The living room was a riot of dust-covered pink doilies and throw pillows, and he passed through it with a shudder. "Don't know how anyone lives with that frou-frou crap. Aw, now we're talkin'." He grinned as he entered a new hall and saw what had to be a cellar door. "Bet you stowed all your witch goodies in the basement, like a good little evil-doer." He flicked the light on and was relieved the power was still on. Dean went slowly down the stairs, eyes alert for any sign of a trap or hex. He didn't want to end up in the same state as his little brother or worse. Dean reached the bottom and looked out into the cellar. An altar sat against the far wall, and, like the kitchen upstairs, was covered in small Tupperware containers, and he was sure these weren't filled with cooking supplies. He stepped out onto the floor and jerked back as a bright, white light flashed through the room and a riot of sound exploded in his ears.

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Sam sat dejected in the passenger seat, counting off twenty minutes in his head while his brother was off alone in a dead witch's house. He rubbed a hand over his useless eyes and resisted the urge to simply scream with frustration over the whole thing. He went over that night in the storage lot in his head and honestly couldn't remember if there had been any sign of a trap when he'd run out of the alley, if he had missed something that could have been avoided.

"Dammit," Sam groaned softly. He slid a hand across the seat to the driver's side and keenly missed his big brother's presence. He pulled his hand back, disgusted with his own weakness and stiffened as the count in his head reached twenty. "Come on, Dean." Sam rolled his window down and hoped to hear his brother coming but there was nothing, save for the quiet night and the chirping of crickets. "Come on, come on." He took out his cell phone and ran his fingers over it in his hand, debating and he made up his mind.

"Oh, this is a bad idea," Sam told himself as he found the handle and pushed his door open. He'd had Dean describe the street to him and the location of the house well enough that Sam had built a rough picture in his mind. He stood outside the car and eased the door closed and tried to find his bearings in the inky blackness of his world. "You can do this," Sam muttered and took a step away from the car. He grunted in pain as his foot caught on the curb he couldn't see and he went down to his hands and knees.

"Dammit!" Sam cursed and got unsteadily back to his feet. He faced in what he hoped was the direction of the house and started walking again. He picked his feet up higher than he normally would to avoid stumbling on anything else and listened. There were crickets, the distant sound of a television up too loud from somewhere, the sound of his sneakers brushing through the grass and… Sam froze. He heard the sound of a second set of feet moving swiftly through the grass and coming toward him. He tensed and raised his hands and nearly yelped when strong hands clamped down on his shoulders.

"What the fuck are you doin' out here?" Dean demanded as he reached his little brother and grabbed him. Sam was halfway across the lawn heading in the vague direction of the witch's house and looked lost.

"Jesus, Dean." Sam blew out a breath while his heart thundered and held onto Dean's arms. "What took you so long? I thought…" his voice trailed off as he realized there was warm, blood-wet fabric under his right fingers. "You're hurt!" Panic slammed into Sam. He'd left Dean to go in without backup and he'd been hurt in the process. "How bad? Dean, how bad is it?"

"Dammit, would you… knock it off!" Dean grabbed Sam's hands before he could tear the hole in his jacket sleeve even wider. "I'm fine, alright? It's nothing. Just a scratch."

"This is not a scratch! There's too much blood!" Sam tried to tug his hands free but Dean had firm hold of him. He wanted to scream with his inability to see how badly his brother had been wounded.

"Sam! Chill out! It's really not that bad!" Dean squeezed Sam's hands in his own and tried to make him calm down. "Won't even need stitches, ok? Sam, I swear. If it were that bad, we'd be going to an ER."

"You'd lie to me," Sam said uncertainly as he held onto Dean and listened to his calm, determined voice. "You would."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. I'm not hurt that bad." Dean rolled his eyes and let go of Sam's hands in favor of sliding an arm around his back to get him turned and walking toward the car. "It was a stupid damn trap. I should have seen the thing. Knife just grazed my arm is all. It's fine. Hurts like a bitch, but my insides are all still on the inside."

Sam put a hand out when Dean stopped him and felt the Impala in front of him. He gripped hold of the car and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on the roof. "Goddammit, Dean."

"I'm ok, Sammy," Dean said more softly than he meant to and rested a hand on Sam's back to let him know where he was.

Sam shook his head, rolling his forehead over the cool metal. "You don't get it. What if you'd really been hurt in there? What if you'd… I couldn't help you, Dean. You can't…" He straightened and turned, fisting his hands in his brother's jacket when they bumped into his chest. "No more stupid chances, ok? Not alone. Not until I get my sight back. Promise me. I can't do this again."

"Well, shit." Dean hung his head. He considered what it would have done to him if he'd been the one blinded and Sam had come back bloody and his heart about pounded out of his chest in imagined fear. "Ok, I'm sorry. Promise. No more dangerous crap 'til we get you fixed. Good?"

Sam nodded and swallowed. "Yeah." He took a deep breath and forced himself to take his hands away from his brother's chest. "So, did you find it?"

"I got it." Dean grinned and pulled open the passenger door. He tucked his brother's head inside, closed the door and jogged around the car. He glanced down at his bloody arm and bit his lip because it had been close. If he hadn't thrown himself backwards onto the stairs when he did, the array of knives that had flown out of the walls would have skewered him where he stood. He could thank his ingrained hunter reflexes for his life. He climbed in behind the wheel and wasn't surprised when his brother's hand inched across the seat until it was touching the hem of his jacket. As before, it didn't even occur to him to tease Sam about it. "All we gotta do is dig through this thing, find the hex, and we'll have you back to normal in no time, little brother."

Sam nodded but didn't say anything. He was still shaken knowing that Dean had been injured, frustrated that he couldn't see it for himself, and terrified that the witch's grimoire wouldn't give them the answer they needed. After all, when had Winchester luck ever worked that way?

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- Somewhere in Devil's Lake, North Dakota…

"What do you mean… blind?" Azazel snarled and wrapped his fingers in the blonde hair of a very unfortunate witch. He narrowed his yellow eyes at her and smiled. "And be very specific. When I asked you to check up on my favorite boy, it wasn't so you could accidentally blind him. Explain."

"I… I…" She gasped and swallowed hard. "You… you told me to use my sight to see him, to see where he was, and I… I did, but there was… something went wrong."

"Well, obviously, if little Sammy Winchester is blind. What. Did. You. Do?" Azazel punctuated each question with a vicious shake of her head. "Quickly now. I'm losing patience."

"There was another spell!" The witch cried out and held onto the demon's arm, trying to save herself pain. "I felt it when I looked into him! I'm sorry, master. I'm sorry!"

"So you're telling me that your vision broke his vision because of another spell," he said softly and angrily. "He can't see my visions anymore," Azazel said as if teaching a small child. "If he can't see my visions, he won't be ready when the day comes, and I am not going to lose my favorite before the prize fight even starts. Fix it."

"I can't!"

"Excuse me?" he growled and twisted the witch's head back so he could stare into her eyes. Azazel fisted his other hand around her throat and began to squeeze. "I don't believe I heard you properly."

"I… I meant that I…" The witch coughed and sucked in a gasp of air around Azazel's tightening grip. "… need to know what the spell was! If I fig… figure that out, I can… maybe I can… fix him!"

"Hearin' an awful lot of 'maybe' and 'if' coming out of your mouth, darlin'." Azazel squeezed her throat a little more tightly and made a tsking sound between his teeth. "You've got a day. Twenty-four hours to tell me how to fix Sam Winchester or your contract will be coming due a few years early." He pulled her up and placed a mocking, gentle kiss between her terrified eyes. "You don't want to know what we'll do to you if you lose me my favorite pawn."

She wheezed for breath when he released her and crumpled to the floor. "No, no, master. I'll… there's a w-way."

"Find it. Fast." Azazel turned from her and looked out over the lake spread before him. "Can't have you opting out of the festivities, Sammy. I've got big plans for you, son."

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Sam twisted his fingers together in his lap as he sat and listened to his brother in the bathroom. He wished he could bandage the cut for him. Hell, he wished he could see the damn thing and know if Dean was snowing him on just how severe it was. He was left blinking at nothing, at the darkness that was going to drive him mad. He chewed on his bottom lip when the shower turned off and decided he could still pull the little brother card and make sure Dean actually cleaned up his arm. He stood and turned toward where he knew the bathroom was. Sam reached out as he walked to find the handle and, as he reached where the door should have been, he heard it open and his hand slid onto bare, damp skin over firm muscle and Sam's brain screeched to a halt.

"Sammy?" Dean asked curiously and looked down at his brother's big hand spread wide across his lower stomach, just above the towel wrapped low around his hips. It sent a thrill of something new through his gut and he sucked in a breath in surprise.

"Uh…" Sam sputtered and was completely focused on the feel of his brother's stomach under his hand and the muscles shifting which each breath he took.

"You want the shower?" Dean asked in a voice gone hoarse as he tried to not let Sam know just how much the simple touch was affecting him. And how screwed up did that make him? Being turned on by your little brother's hand on your stomach? Yeah… seriously not normal, even in their admittedly messed up sense of the word.

"Huh?" Sam shook his head and snatched his hand away from Dean's stomach like it had been burnt. "Yeah, no, I uh… yeah."

Dean shook his head at the thunderstruck look on his brother's face and moved out of the way. Sam was obviously as confused as he was. "Bathroom. Dead ahead four paces." He watched Sam shuffle to the door and rubbed a hand over the spot on his stomach where Sam's hand had been pressed. "I'm, uh…. gonna go grab food while you're in there. Yes, I'll be careful."

"Ok." Sam managed a smile and found the door. "Try not to get lost." He closed the door behind him and then leaned against it as he blew out his breath and tried to calm down. Feeling Dean's stomach under his hand had been surreal and visceral, and if the painfully hard length of his cock stuffed in his jeans meant anything, a hell of a lot more arousing than it damn well should have been. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Sam asked himself softly and pulled off his shirts. He felt around for the counter and dropped them there before unbuckling his belt. He kicked off his jeans, keeping one hand on the counter to balance himself and ran a hand over his cock with a low moan.

"Jesus." Sam swallowed, shaking his head at himself and felt around until he found the shower. He was getting the hang of navigating the bathroom without his sight and had the water running easily as he stepped under the warming spray. He pulled the shower curtain closed and heard the door to the room bang closed; Dean on his way out for food. "Oh, thank God." Sam braced one hand and his head on the wall and hunched over as he fisted his cock. He needed to release the pressure and there just wasn't any alone time to do that with Dean taking such good care of him since his sight vanished. Yeah; maybe that was it. That could explain the instant arousal he'd felt at the mere touch of his brother's warm, wet skin. It had just been too long… He bit off a louder moan while his hand ran up and down his shaft and he squeezed under the head.

"Shit!" Sam spread his legs to give him better balance and took his other hand from the wall to slip around his hip and behind himself. The running water from the shower head sprayed down his back and sluiced between the cheeks of his ass where he ran his fingers as he fisted himself. "God, yes," Sam moaned and rubbed his fingers over his clenching hole with another, louder moan.

Dean stood frozen in the middle of the room with the sound of Sam moaning coming from the bathroom. He'd put his jeans on and realized the first aid kit was still in the car. Sam's voice had been the first thing he heard when he came back in and shut the door, and now he seemed unable to do anything; anything like move or let Sam know he had an audience. He let the first aid kit fall from his hand to the bed and palmed a hand over himself without really thinking about it. All the spit dried in his mouth, and Dean's cock gave a hard, almost painful jump in his pants when he heard Sam clearly moan his name.

"Holy fuck," Dean breathed and pressed his hand more firmly over his cock. He moved to the bathroom door in a daze and leaned against it, listening. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but that didn't stop Dean from shoving a hand down the front of his jeans as Sam's noises grew in volume. He curled his fingers around his cock and bit his bottom lip to hold in a moan of his own. He could hear Sam panting above the spray of water, hear the desperate moans, and he wondered what his little brother was doing to himself to drive those noises out of him. He pointedly ignored the thought that immediately followed… that some fucked up part of him wished HE was the one doing whatever the hell it was.

Sam slid a finger inside himself as he stroked his cock and gasped out a moan. It'd been almost a week since he'd had enough alone time to himself to really enjoy it and God how he missed it. He twisted his shoulder to get his finger further into himself and chewed on his bottom lip to try and muffle the pleased cry when he found his sweet spot and pressed on it. In his mind was a vision of Dean, a parade of all the times over all the years that he'd seen Dean coming out of the bathroom in a towel, all the glimpses of him naked as he dressed, and the feel of Dean's wet skin under his fingers. Sam came suddenly on a shout of his brother's name and ground his forehead into the tiles while his cock pulsed in his hand.

Dean jerked back from the bathroom and yanked his hand out of his pants with Sam's shout. "Son of a bitch," he gasped and backed away. The wrong of it swirled sickly through him and he grabbed his shirt, the first aid kit and all but ran for the door, trying to forget the sound of his little brother coming with his name on his lips and just how much it made Dean want to walk in that bathroom and come with him.

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To Be Continued…