It was all teeth, lips, tongue and hands. All over, every inch, and he gasped as his Angel touched him there, and then he laughed because for some reason, with Cas, he always laughed. The Angel liked it, the Angel touched something in his mind that made Dean laugh. Dean almost never laughed.
His hand shot out, grasping for the front of the trench coat, but met empty air, and then a flat, over-used hotel pillow. The image before him faded. The lips and teeth and tongue were gone. Then the hands. The threadbare blanket was itchy against his naked chest and he heaved a sigh.
He could hear the quiet shifting sound in the corner of the room before he opened his eyes and saw the light from Sam's laptop, and knew he was in full-on research mode. They'd spent the day mostly trying to keep from freaking out, eventually Dean insisting that Sam get very drunk and stay put because every time Sammy tried to move around he'd fall.
The irony was killing Dean, and he was punched more than once for laughing when he realized that Sam was stumbling and falling because he could see, and a few times punching Sam because Sam seemed to find the movement of Dean's face when he talked hilarious.
He had hoped that Sammy would eventually go to bed, but once the booze had worn off and Dean had passed out face-down on the springy hotel mattress, it was obvious the younger Winchester decided work was more important.
"You looking at porn?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes and peering at the clock, dismayed to find it was four-thirty in the morning.
"Funny," Sam said in his sassy-research tone.
Dean rose, cracked his back, twisting his bent arms back and forth, and then he stumbled across the carpet to the small table where Sam sat. The younger Winchester had his hands on his Braille display, his eyes firmly clamped shut as he navigated a website that Dean couldn't see from the angle he was sitting.
"I keep staring at it, trying to make sense of it," Sam said, pressing his fingers to his eyelids. "It's like… Actually I don't know what it's like. It doesn't make any sense."
"Yeah," Dean said, and all of the humor about the situation deflated because he could, at least a little, understand how goddamn hard this was on Sammy. "Look, why don't I take over for a while and you can get some sleep."
"There's no way in hell I'm going to be able to sleep with all this crap in my head," Sam said. He sat back, rubbed his eyes again and blinked them open. There was that look again on his face, that confused, terrified look as his brain tried to process all the shapes and colors that his eyes could suddenly see.
"What about me? Do I still look like a total freak?"
"You look exactly like you've always looked," Sam said, his fingers grabbing out for Dean's scar, just for a moment. "… like a bitch."
"Dick," Dean corrected. "You're the little bitch."
Sam snorted and didn't protest as Dean grabbed the laptop away from Sam and turned the screen so he could see it. Dean's fingers ghosted along the sentence Sam had been reading, his eyes finding it on the screen. Dean could read Braille for about as long as Sammy. It was something John had done, some excuse to keep himself exempt from doing any of those fatherly things—like reading his youngest a bedtime story. He'd ordered all the little Dr. Seuss and Roald Dahl books in Braille. So really, when Sammy's little hand tugged at his brother's shirt and asked for a bedtime story, Dean only had one choice. Dean never, ever, told Sammy no.
"Devi?" Dean asked after a moment. His fingers brushed across the bumps, making sure that his eyes and hands were reading it right. "What the hell is a Devi."
"It's a healer, sort of," Sam said. He had his face toward Dean, his eyes closed. He was still having trouble watching Dean speak. The movement was distracting, chaotic, he'd said when Dean demanded to know why Sammy wasn't trying to cope a little better. "Actually, a Devi is a goddess, an embodiment of a god or goddesses' powers from the Hindi pantheon," Sam continued. "However they're also divine humans, healers. There have been reports of things—like this—" he gestured at his still-closed eyes, "in India even today."
Dean rubbed his fingers around his mouth and chin and sat back, looking at the screen. It was covered in Sanskrit writing, those bright blue and yellow and gold pictures of the Hindi pantheon covering the sides. It was a shitty webpage, the text an ugly sort of gold on brown, and the sentence structure was crappy. "Okay so… so you think one of these Devi things have something to do with your sight returning. Or well… existing. Or whatever?"
Sam let out a sigh and shrugged. "I don't know. Honestly, it's the first thing I came across that made any sense. Obviously the Angels didn't do it, and maybe it was a Demon, but if it was, likely they had outside help. From the other websites I checked," Sam said—other meaning the ones the Hunters used, with actual information instead of religious and urban legend— "it looks like you can get a Devi to perform a favor with either a soul or blood sacrifice." Like a Demon, was the unspoken rest of the sentence.
"So how do we find one? Or track who might have done this?" Dean asked.
"I thought maybe you could ask your boyfriend—"
"Four AM is not a wise time to be an ass, Sammy," Dean warned.
Sam grinned regardless. "—to track down any potential information on where we might find one. We know that the god population was fairly devastated by Lucifer, so there aren't that many left. The Devi's powers derive from the powers of their pantheon, so if we can track down a god, we might be able to find the healer responsible."
"If that's what it was," Dean amended.
"Exactly."
Dean pushed the laptop back to Sam and rubbed his face. "Okay well, mind if I get a little more shut-eye before I call Cas down? I have to have at least four hours before I can deal with his shit."
"Yeah, I mean, not much we can do at four AM," Sam agreed. Grateful for the reprieve, Dean got up and stumbled back to the bed, falling face-down with a groan. "I did check your internet history though," Sam called as Dean's eyes began to slip closed. "Is that normal people porn, or just yours?"
Dean grinned into the pillow and shook his head. "Oh Sammy, just you wait until your brain figures this out. Just you wait."
qp
Dean slept til noon. Sam wanted to wake him, irritated that Dean seemed to be treating this like it was no big deal, but Sam was scared. Not just of the complete chaos that was colors and shapes and visual movement, but by the fact that stuff like this didn't just happen. Any time the boys were affected by anything weird, it was bad. It was generally send-your-soul-to-hell sort of bad, and Sam was damn tired.
They'd been fighting for so long, and things had just started to settle down a little. He wanted to wake Dean, but the only response he got from the elder Winchester when Sam purposefully bumped up against the bed repeatedly was a groan and a pillow thrown at him.
Finally, tired of sitting there listening to his brother snore, Sam grabbed his sunglasses, grabbed his cane, and left. They'd been at that particular motel for two weeks now in their previous demon hunt, so he was familiar enough with the area to walk down to the small park, a sidewalk café, and to the shores of the small beach that, oddly, was always empty.
The sunglasses, he discovered, weren't effective in shutting anything out, but the did take the edge off the violent assault of color that Sam was sure he'd never get used to. It was all so chaotic. Just this never ending mass of brightness and sharpness that never stayed in one place. Things constantly occupying his field of vision, and he didn't quite get depth perception or movement well enough to know that something getting larger and larger, encompassing his whole space, was something coming at him, or near him. He had seen Dean's fist flying at him, but he hadn't understood it until it made contact and that, above anything else, scared the shit out of him.
It was a bright day, though, sunny and warm, and the gentle breeze felt good on his skin as he started up the sidewalk, counting his steps, letting his cane guide him because he still had no idea what anything was.
He passed the café, staring at the colors and shapes of the things he recognized by smell and how many steps to took to get to the front gate. The sights of everything were too much though, and his stomach churned.
He went forward again, his cane making contact with things he knew were small obstacles and he was frustrated that he didn't know if they were things he could step through, step on… anything. He jammed his eyes closed, retreating into the comfort of the darkness.
He walked through the grass, fifteen steps from the boardwalk, twenty steps from the beach sand. There was a bench somewhere. His cane made contact with something hard and he opened his eyes. A thing in front of him, and he recognized one of the shapes to be a person—he at figured that much out at least.
His hand reached out to confirm it was a bench and he let out a relieved sigh. "Mind if I sit."
"Not at all, Sam."
Oh he recognized that voice, though, and his heart twisted so hard he thought he might pass out. That drawling voice, words slithering from the lips as hands once slithered up his body and then suddenly he had just gone, and Sam was alone, and god he had hated him.
"Balthazar."
Sam hesitated, not sure he wanted to take a seat. It wasn't just the fucking him and leaving him part that pissed Sam off, either. It was the shit Balthazar had put them through during the war with Raphael, and the fact that in the end, Balthazar had just left Cas, left them, to clean up the mess. It hurt still. A lot.
He sat anyway. His hand darted out to guide himself down on the bench, still unsure of himself, and his eyes were closed because he didn't think he was ready to see what Balthazar actually looked like.
"Word on Angel radio is that something hurt you," he said quietly. Sam heard him shift and felt that sort of warmth that only came from the Angels as he drew closer to the Winchester. "You seem… intact."
Sam clenched his jaw, trying to control his sudden fury, torn between wanting to jam an Angel Knife right through Balthazar's chin, ending the son of a bitch, and wanting to just grab him and kiss him and make him beg for Sam to take him back. Of course, Angels didn't beg. Ever.
"We're handling it. Cas is on the case."
"Cas," Balthazar said with a slight snort. "Right. Yes, I see. He didn't tell me."
"Last time I checked, the two of you weren't exactly on the best of terms," Sam said. He let his fingers trail up and down his cane, taking comfort in the tactile familiarity. He let his eyes ghost open gently and he tried to put vision with the sounds of the waves that lay straight ahead. That sight wasn't so bad, actually. Movement in the corner of his eye startled him, though, because he was convinced any and every movement was going to hit him.
He stuck out his hand and found Bathazar's chest. The Angel made a small noise in the back of his throat and closed his hand around Sam's wrist. "Sam."
"Don't."
Balthazar shuffled closer, his thigh now against Sam's thigh. "Sam," he said, more insistent.
Sam turned to him sharply, his eyes open, and took in the thing sitting before him. It was… he didn't know what it was. It was foreign and different. He didn't understand it, though when he closed his eyes he remembered what that face felt like under his fingers. The curve of his nose, that sort of sharp way his mouth turned when he smiled. The fuzzy brows and that hair… oh…
Sam flinched when Balthazar reached his hand up for his face, pulling back slightly, but Balthazar held him in place, firmly, as only an Angel could do. Sam jammed his eyes shut as he felt Balthazar's fingers curve around the bridge of the glasses and tugged them off his face.
"Open your eyes," the Angel commanded.
"No."
Balthazar released his wrist and Sam felt those impossibly warm hands cup his face. Thumbs stroked his cheeks on either side of his nose and he could feel the Angel's unnecessary breath, the air he used to make his vessel speak, ghost over his face. "Open them."
"I can't," Sam said, not lying. It felt like some outside force was keeping them glued shit. Fear, probably, because he just couldn't deal with this right now.
"Can you see, Sam?"
Sam laughed, startling the Angel, his shoulders shaking with bitter mirth. "Define see, Balthazar."
"Open your eyes, Sam!"
He did. His eyelids fluttered upward and he flinched at the Angel's face so damn close to his. It was… it different. Not like Dean's, not like Castiel's. It was… interesting. Sam's hand rose up, involuntarily, and he let his fingers tell his brain what his eyes could not. Cheeks, chin, nose, eyes, hair. That hair, same, soft curls threading around his fingers. It was a nice color—whatever that color was. He'd never asked, it had never mattered to a blind man.
"What happened?"
Sam shrugged and blinked rapidly, disliking the sensation, but he couldn't help it. "I don't know. I woke up like this… incapacitated. Devastated by sight. Dean thinks it's funny, of course."
"Of course he does," Balthazar said, just a hint of contempt in his voice. "And Castiel has obviously been down to see you."
"Um, yeah," Sam said with a sigh, "though fat lot of good that did. He said Angels couldn't heal what was a natural process."
"He's right," the Angel replied.
"So far we think it's a demon, having worked with a Devi to incapacitate me. Distract us, I guess."
"Crowley?" Balthazar offered.
Sam quirked a smile. "Probably. Only thing that would make sense, don't you think?"
Balthazar's face shifted and Sam let his fingers confirm that the Angel was smiling. It wasn't half-bad looking.
"Why are you here?" Sam asked.
"I heard on Angel radio that something happened to you."
Sam gave a derisive snort and let his eyes slip closed again. "Since when do you care? When have you ever actually cared?"
There was a long silence and Balthazar had let Sam go, giving him some space. Sam thought maybe the Angel had gone, but he reached out and touched the edge of Balthazar's jeans.
"Since the dawn of time," came the answer. "I'm going to see what I can come up with. As much as I love our little Angel of Thursday, I'm not sure I want this resting solely in his hands."
Sam wanted to say no. And he also wanted to say thanks. And maybe fuck you, too, because the dawn of time? Who did Balthazar think he was kidding? But there was that sound of fluttering, wings, and the Angel had gone, leaving Sam alone on the bench. He sat back, his eyes still closed and he listened. Listened to the breeze and the birds. To the waves, and he even heard Dean approach, his footfalls heavy and persistent and obviously pissed that Sam had taken off, but Sam didn't really care about Dean's ire at the moment.
He heard the subtle shift of Dean's leather jacket shift as his older brother took a seat. A hand reached out to squeeze his shoulder, their quiet way of letting each other know one was nearby.
"Any word from Cas?"
"He popped in for a few minutes," Dean said, sexsexsexsexsex dripping from that short phrase. "He said he's still looking into it."
Sam smiled just a little and shifted so his leg was touching Dean's. He needed that grounding right now, the feeling of chaos and sight and the world overwhelming him. "Well we have more help."
He could practically feel Dean's eyebrow quirk and he heard his brother quietly clear his throat. "More help?"
"Balthazar," Sam said.
The silence hanging in the air was painful because Dean knew, and Dean remembered Sammy's pain. Dean was there when Sammy drank himself near to death after the Angel had just left him. Dean was there cleaning up the mess when Balthazar had sent them into an alternate dimension, nearly getting them both killed, and then just took off without even so much as a thank you, or an I'm sorry for ripping our heart out and eating it in front of you Sam.
Dean also knew that Sam, despite it all, still loved that winged dickhead, and Dean hated it, but he didn't blame Sammy because it wasn't like he and Cas had the best relationship either. Cas, who had nearly killed Dean a few times, and never hesitated to remind Dean how powerful he was. Cas who was only there sometimes, and never when Dean really needed him. Winchester curse, both brothers could feel that.
"He didn't say where he was going or why," Sam finally said, breaking the silence. "I guess… he'll probably contact Cas."
"Oh he's gonna love that," Dean snarked. He reached out and out his hand over Sam's. "Anyway, Cas showed me a potential lead, so we're checked out. Ready to hit the road."
Sam sighed and opened his eyes, looking out at the ocean again. "What color is that? Blue? Or is it… different?"
"That's blue," Dean said. "Ocean blue, sky blue. Sandy yellow."
Sam gave a nod and then smiled at his brother, chuckling at the ridiculous sight of Dean's sort of awkward half-smile back. "It's kind of nice looking, isn't it?"
The awkwardness melted off of Dean's face and was replaced by something Sam hadn't seen yet… but he liked it. He liked that Dean face. "Yeah. Yeah, it kind of is."