The moment they pulled into the parking lot, Sam knew that wherever they were wasn't their usual type of run-down motel. For one- the parking lot was way too long, and two- the moment they stepped into the lobby—which was usually some glass pane where a cigarette and whiskey saturated man with no teeth sat and took cash only—was immense and it echoed. They never stayed in places with lobbies that echoed.
The place was bright, bright to the point of making Sam want to throw up. The light source came from individual specks all over the damn place, hanging from the walls and the roof and the color, he didn't ask, but it was hideous.
He had his sunglasses on to try and mute it, but it reached the point where he just jammed his eyes shut and grabbed Dean's shoulder as they crossed the tiled floors.
Now, this was new, because though Sam occasionally needed a guide in new places, he rarely used one physically. It was typically an elbow to elbow situation, or Dean walking next to Sam, Sam navigating with his cane while Dean barked out the occasional direction.
"What's up?" Dean asked, shrugging off Sam's hand.
"This place is making my head spin," Sam complained, pinching his nose under the glasses.
"Dude, quit being a little bitch."
That stung, but it wasn't as though Sam didn't expect the reply. He just… he just sort of wished that Dean would give him a little reprieve. Sam could do things a lot of sighted people couldn't. He never considered his lack of vision a disability. He wasn't crippled. But now… now he felt disabled. Now his brain was working in overdrive to process things, and yeah, he was sort of getting better at understanding facial features. It took them two days to reach their destination and Sam was now able to recognize the difference between a smile and a frown. He could reach for the door handle on the Impala by sight instead of touch, and he could tell the color black from white. But that was it. He couldn't tell the difference between a chair and a restaurant booth. Words… that was a world he'd never understand. Just a jumble of shapes in colors contrasting the paper they were printed on. And people. God. What a bunch of… weird shapes and strange expressions that Sam did not understand, nor did he want to. The very idea that his face looked like that freaked him out, in all honesty.
So yeah, he was hoping Dean might cut him a break just this once. He didn't, of course, because he was Dean and he just didn't cut anyone breaks. Especially Sam. Not now. Not after Sam had brought back Lucifer, become the devil, or returned without a soul. Yeah. Not Sam.
Dean broke away from Sam and when Sam tried to catch him, he missed by what felt like a mile. He watched as his hand groped through the air, met with nothing, and fell back down. "Asshole," Sam said, took a few strides forward and thwacked Dean on the side of his calf with his cane. Sam knew it stung, Dean had stolen his cane numerous times and left welts on Sam's legs for the hell out of it, so he smirked.
Dean paused mid-step, shook his head, and then kept walking to the counter. Sam's cane met resistance, and he realized the giant thing with the mess of a person standing behind it must be the counter, so he folded up his cane, confirmed the counter-top with his fingers, and then waited as Dean checked them in.
"Two rooms," Dean said, which made Sam frown, but he continued without missing a beat, "under Dean Winchester."
Sam sputtered, his eyes going wide, eyebrows flying up to his hairline. "Dean," he said under his breath.
"Shut up, Sammy," Dean muttered back. He handed over a credit card, a few keys were typed on the computer, and then four keys were passed over.
"The rooms are adjoining as you requested," the person, who was a woman Sam realized by the sound of her voice, said. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call down and we'll send anything up."
Sam heard the tone, the pity tone, the 'we'll accommodate you, you poor blind man' tone because of his glasses and cane. For the first time he wanted to stare the woman in the eye and scream at her for making assumptions. But as Sam turned and tripped over a low table with a plant on it because his eyes hadn't been able to tell his brain that it was something three-dimensional and tall and it couldn't be walked on or walked through, he remembered he was blind.
None of that really mattered though, because Dean had evidently lost his goddamn mind, checking into a hotel under his real name. And where the hell had he gotten a credit card for Dean Winchester, Sam wondered as he followed Dean down the hall. His cane swished, telling him where the low tables and room service trays lay, and he felt comfortable and satisfied.
Dean was just a few steps ahead, Sam able to follow him okay by sight, and they finally made it to the room. "We can set this shit up in yours," Dean said in his gruff tone, shoving the laptop bag at Sam and opening the door.
It was expansive. Even without a concept of depth perception, Sam could tell that. The room sounded hollow and the air came from a vent in the ceiling rather than one of those wonky wall-units that never worked properly. And it smelled nice. It smelled clean and fresh, like the sheets and blankets had been changed on a regular basis, and there wouldn't be grime on the bathroom floors.
Sam's hand reached out and he went through the room, letting his fingers tell his eyes what everything was. A sofa, a TV, table, two beds, a large window overlooking the city, and a few comfortable chairs that were definitely not their usual motel fare.
"What are you doing, exactly?" Sam finally asked, turning to his brother. He'd counted the steps, filed the memory away, and folded up his cane. "Dean Winchester? Are you insane."
"Don't be a little bitch, Sammy," Dean snarked in his voice that told Sam more than just Sam's question was bothering his big brother.
Sam put his things on the second bed and moved forward, cautiously, dragging one foot in front of the other until his hand made contact with Dean's shoulder. "What the hell is going on?"
"Nothing, Sam," Dean said and brushed Sam away. Dean didn't do that very often.
"You do realize that our names are flagged, right? We're going to have the feds on our asses in a matter of hours."
"No Sammy, we're not," Dean retorted, and now he just sounded kind of tired. "I wanted a break, and the feds stopped giving a shit two years ago. I just wanted… I just wanted a break, okay?"
Sam took a step back and held up his hand in surrender. "Okay. Whatever you say, man."
"What, you don't believe me?" Dean's voice rose, accusatory, ready to pick a fight.
"I'm saying you're acting weird, Dean. You're angry over something, I don't know what, and I can't figure it out. I don't have time for your temper tantrum bullshit because I'm busy trying to relearn how to function and try to figure out what the hell happened to me." Sam didn't give him a moment to answer. He closed his eyes, back to his comfort zone, found his laptop and took it to the table.
He began to plug it in, grabbed the Braille reader and he heard Dean sigh. "What?" he demanded.
"Braille?"
Sam clenched his jaw and rolled his now-working eyes to his brother. He didn't know what the expression on Dean's face was, but he figured it wasn't anything nice. "Yes, Dean. Braille. Because even though I can see now, I can't read. If this sticks, this whole sighted thing, I'm going to have to learn how to read. Like a goddamn five year old."
Sam didn't need to see Dean's jaw shut tightly to know it had. He put the braille display on the laptop and switched it all on. Dean mumbled something about a shower, and then Sam went to work.
Of course, even the hunter websites had very little on the Devi. Occasional lore, myth, how they appeared to humans, what types of sacrifices they preferred. They could be staked, just like any of the other gods, but Sam wondered if that was actually the answer. Maybe he could just bargain with it, to be put back the way he was. If… that was what he wanted.
Right now, staring at the jumbled mess on the laptop, only able to tell what anything said or was by the bumps pulsing under his fingers, Sam did want things to go back the way they were. Dean was acting like an ass—for whatever reason—Sam felt lost and alone. Balthazar was back, and that was just a whole goddamn can of worms Sam was not ready to open, and who the hell knew where Cas was. And he still had no idea why this had been done. What was the point? It certainly wasn't a gift, at least not to Sam.
He needed a drink, and he didn't want to drink with Dean in the mood his brother was currently in. He grabbed his glasses from the table and his cane as Dean came out of the shower.
"The hell you going?" Dean asked.
"Downstairs. Going to take a walk, maybe grab a drink," Sam said in the tone that read, 'and no you're not invited.'
"Taking your cane?" Dean asked.
Sam pursed his lips and rolled his head around to stare at his brother through the dark shades. "Yes, Dean. Yes, I'm going to take my cane. And my glasses. And I'm going to read the braille plaques on the walls for the bathroom and the floor numbers. I'm going to touch the bar stool so I know where to sit. I'm going to tell the guy behind the bar to just give me their house tap because I can't read the menu. What is your goddamn problem?!"
"My problem?" Dean asked, and Sam heard that tone and oh he knew it was coming now. "My problem? You're treating this like you've lost a fucking limb, Sammy! Like you've been cursed. You've been given your sight back and you're not even trying to see things! I mean Jesus, Sam, how often does this happen?"
"I didn't ask for this to happen!" Sam said, and he could feel the floodgates opening, his emotions pouring out, those feelings he just really hadn't wanted to deal with. "I was fine! I was fine, Dean! And you!" He took rapid steps toward Dean and grabbed him by his shirt front. He backed his brother up, his hand feeling for the wall and when his fingers touched it, he slammed Dean hard against it. Not too hard, but enough to make his point. "I wasn't broken, I didn't need to be fixed. I was fine, Dean."
"Sammy, you can see," Dean said, his voice low and hurt. "You can see and it's like you don't care. You got one of your senses back, and that never happens, and you don't seem to give a shit."
Sam let his hand fall from Dean's front, slow and steady as his heart thudded hard in his ears. Dean was still talking but Sam couldn't hear him over the sudden realization and he held his hand up for his brother to stop. "Did you do this?"
"Sam," Dean said, sounding affronted.
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. He needed to read Dean his way, by voice, by tone. "Did. You. Do. This."
There was a long pause, and then he said, "No, but I don't hate the thing that did."
He was telling the truth. Sam could always tell, and Dean was telling the truth, and it sucked. Sam took another step back and reached for his cane. He flicked it open and stood there, eyes shut, heart thumping, aching because of all people, Dean didn't get it. Of all people…
"You always told me I was whole. That my sight didn't matter. You taught me to write, and to run and to fucking drive. I can walk alone through unfamiliar streets with a cane and counted steps because of you. I've killed demons, I've been to hell and back, and never once… not until now… have I actually ever stumbled. Of all people, to know you think I'm broken..."
"I've never said you were broken," Dean hissed, and it was his turn to grab Sam by the front of his shirt. "I don't care if you're blind, deaf and mute, you son of a bitch. But you don't even care that maybe this was done in your best interest. Maybe you can live an easier life. Maybe it isn't so fucking bad, but you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself to try." He shoved Sam away, harder than Sam had shoved him, and then he was gone.
The door to their adjoining room slammed shut and Sam heard the lock click. He sighed, ran his hand back through his hair and thought, 'fuck him.' Because really, fuck him. Dean may have spent his life pushing Sam to be better than the world thought he was going to be, but Dean never actually bothered to try and see what life was like for Sam.
And Sam? He might have been a genius, probably thanks to the demon blood, and he was strong, for the same damn reason, but he had to work twice as hard to get the same results but he'd done it. He'd done it, and Dean thought Sam could just stop. Just give it up, everything he'd done to get to where he was, and just exist like everyone else.
He let his hand trail along the wall as he made his way from memory back down to the lobby. He'd lost count, something he almost never did, but whatever, he was able to tell the difference between hallway and open space now, though processing much else just wasn't happening.
He found his way back to the desk and said, "Hello?" though he knew someone was standing there. With the cane and the glasses and his inability to actually see what he was seeing, it was easier to just be blind.
"How can I help you, sir?" It was that same woman from before.
"Is there a bar around here?" Sam asked. "I could really use a drink."
"Yeah it's right over…" she started to point and then gave an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry I uh... I don't um… do you need me to uh… walk? You there?"
"Just directions is fine," Sam said with a smile.
"Uh yeah okay um…"
"Hands of a clock," Sam said. "Pretend you're the twelve."
She gave another laugh, more relaxed this time. "Okay well um, then straight at five o'clock," she said, her voice hesitant but no longer terrified. "The hostess there can direct you to the bar."
Sam smiled again, irritated inside but pleasant outside, and he turned. His can swished along the polished floor as he headed for five o'clock and he noticed immediately the décor and temperature difference. The bar was darker, warmer, not so hard on the eyes. There was a person standing behind a thing, a hostess desk, Sam confirmed with his hands. "Bar?"
"Directly to your left," said the host, man, Sam heard in the voice, bored, probably knew a few blind people.
Sam gave a nod and walked up and saw only one other person there. He found a bar-stool with his hands, folded his cane up on the bar top and removed his glasses. Everything behind the bar was… bright. Shiny, he'd later learn the word, that was shiny. Lighted mirror behind rows upon rows of liquor bottles, lit up to make the display. It was supposed to be pretty but Sam found it visually offensive.
He rubbed at his eyes and sighed.
"You're going to rip them out of your head if you keep on that path." Oh he knew that voice. "Unless that's what you want, of course."
"What are you doing here?" Sam asked. He was met with silence as the bartender showed up, and he noticed movement out of the corner of his vision. He could smell and feel Balthazar taking the seat next to him, though he didn't acknowledge him.
"What can I get for you?"
Sam shifted the white cane, and dared a glance at the bartender who was staring openly. Sam guessed that the expression on the man's face was discomfort, and he almost wanted to laugh. "Just a beer. Whatever your most popular lager is."
"And I'll have a vodka tonic, splash of grapefruit, and throw a cherry in it for fun. I'm rather fond of the way cherries taste," Balthazar all-but purred almost directly in Sam's ear.
Sam shifted away slightly and waited until his drink was in front of him. He tried to grab it, just using his eyes, but missed and gave up, running his hands along the top of the counter until they made contact with the cold glass.
"Same tab?"
"No," said Sam.
While Balthazar said at the same moment, "Yes."
"What do you want?" Sam demanded again. "And don't tell me it's because you care, because you have never given an actual shit about me. You show up when you want something, when you need me and Dean to run a play, to create a diversion so you can go fuck around with Cas's shit, you show up when you're in trouble, when you need protection, but when I need you?"
"I've been there," Balthazar said very quietly. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long drink. "When you've really needed me—and let's face it Sam, you don't really need anyone most of the time—I've been there."
Sam winced and shook his head, angry and hurt and a wishing a little that he had the Angel blade in his jacket pocket. "So when I was lying on the ground, broken and bleeding, torn apart from the inside out, where were you?"
"Sam—"
"No," Sam snapped, "because I'm right and you know it. And believe me, if you didn't want to see me suffer, I have a laundry list of moments that you could have been there. But you weren't. So what. Do. You. Want."
There was a long silence and Sam watched the way Balthazar finished his drink. He found it fascinating the way Balthazar moved. His expressions, his face softer than Castiel or Dean's. The way his fingers curled around what Sam knew from logistics was the glass. The way the light hit the liquid inside of it, and the way it changed as Balthazar drank it.
Sam reached out and just for a moment, touched Balthazar's cheek while he was drinking. Feeling the sensations, familiar to him, while his eyes told his brain that he was seeing these things, too.
"I'm not here to try and force you to believe the truth," the Angel said, and put his hand on top of Sam's when the younger Winchester opened his mouth to argue. "You've relied on yourself, you've been pushed by your brother, by your father, by your very existence to a level that no human being has accomplished. And whether you want to believe it or not, those laundry list moments, you didn't need me, and if I'd been there, there's a good chance you may have given up. You may have broken and despite Lucifer, despite the apocalypse, despite all of it, you have a greater purpose."
"Fuck you. Fuck Angels, and your destiny," Sam spat.
Balthazar threw his head back and laughed, and god Sam hated how much he missed that sound. It wasn't as though Balthazar had been around a lot, but it had been enough to sear a hand-print on Sam's soul, and that was truly and actually crippling.
He looked over at Balthazar again, and watched the Angel touch his own mouth with his fingers. He found the gesture… interesting. Enticing. Sam licked his lips and refused to admit it, though, because fuck this Angel.
"Do you have any new information?"
"I believe so," Balthazar said quietly. "I believe my own baby brother is upstairs in your brother's room relaying said information. Or will be, when they've finished."
Sam shook his head, but secretly he was glad, because Dean really just needed a good fucking right now. He was wound up and disappointed that ultimately Sam did function better blind. In truth, as much as he didn't want to admit it, Sam understood. Dean didn't think he was broken, but Dean had lived his entire life for Sam—that was the harsh reality—and he hoped that if Sam was what most people considered whole, he'd be happy.
"Let's give them ten minutes," Sam said.
They gave them twenty.
Sam was tired, tired of trying to see things and make sense of them, trying to get Dean to understand how he was feeling and why he couldn't just drop his cane and drop the braille and drop having to tell what the hell a towel was without touching it, and he was tired because he wasn't actually sure what he wanted.
His hand rested on Balthazar's shoulder, an unspoken invitation by the Angel when they'd left the bar, and Sam had taken it. He let his eyes rest closed, his cane in front of him but a lazy hold and they made it to the room.
Sam put the keycard in the door and opened it, hoping that if Cas and Dean were naked and doing, whatever, they were in Dean's room. Sam wasn't sure he ever wanted to see that, not between those two. Not ever.
Cas and Dean were both there, and Sam wondered if the look on Dean's face was fatigue. He dropped his cane on the table near the hotel door and walked into the room. Same routine, counted steps, touched the bed, and sat.
"We've found a Devi here in the city," Cas began. He liked to pace when he talked, and it never bothered Sam until he had to watch it. It made him dizzy and being tired, the vertigo was worse than before.
"Okay," Sam said. "The one who did this?"
"I cannot be sure," Castiel said.
"So what, we just gank this Devi thing and everything goes back to the way it was? Sam's blind, Devi's dead, we can move on with our lives?" Dean asked, and Sam could hear the twinge of hurt in his voice.
"Sorry boys, but ganking a Devi isn't as easy as it sounds, not to mention somewhat pointless since killing the creature won't reverse anything," Balthazar said. He passed by Sam and touched him, just briefly, on the shoulder. Sam hated himself for loving it.
"So how do we fix Sam?"
Sam heard it, Dean was trying to make amends. He obviously felt guilty for making Sam feel like he'd always thought he was broken. Sam knew perfectly well Dean didn't feel that way. Not really.
"You could always ask the Devi," Balthazar said in that way that spoke volumes. 'You idiot humans, who never think things through and end all of your questions with a stake through the heart.' Well, it was true, that's generally how the Winchester boys worked.
"What, exactly, are we going to be dealing with, here?" Sam asked, finally speaking up. "I mean, obviously this Devi isn't all fluffy puppies, since it requires blood or soul sacrifices."
"Yeah, we've met some of those Hindi sons-of-bitches and they weren't exactly the friendly shake your hand and do you favors type," Dean cut in.
"We need to establish whether or not a Devi is responsible for Sam's current condition. Once we do that, we may be able to track the one who did it, if not this one, than the other. There aren't many," Castiel said, still pacing. "Once we determine that, we can offer the Devi a trade or sacrifice if willing, and learn who did this, why, and if Sam requests it, how to reverse it."
"Well there are plenty of ways to make a man go blind," Balthazar said. He touched Sam again, ghosting his fingers over Sam's eyelids and he smiled. It was another expression Sam found… appealing. Damn him. "What we really need to know is who did this, and why."
"The Devi is currently behind a rash of miracle healings at a church compound six miles east of the city," Castiel said. "I recommend breaking into the compound. You can use the ruse of Sam's blindness for a healing request. Once you have the Devi's attention, you can request the information."
"And the chances of the Devi going all typical god-smiting on us and trying to kill us?" Dean asked.
Balthazar pulled something out of his coat, something Sam couldn't begin to recognize, and put it in Sam's hands. Even by touch it was unfamiliar. He ran his fingers over it. It felt like wood, smooth and worn and old.
"Stake," Balthazar said after he watched Sam try and figure it out. "We'll be nearby, of course."
"Of course," Dean mimicked in his bitch-voice.
"You should sleep," Castiel said. "Balthazar and I can attempt to locate any other local Devi healers just in case this plan fails. There's been no word or rumor in regards to this being demon, but I would not rule it out."
"Crowley's still out there poking around," Balthazar said with a nod.
"Fine. You two piss off and let us get some rest. Sam looks like he's about to pass out and I'm pretty wiped myself."
Sam wanted to make some joke, some smart-ass remark about Dean's ass being sore, or anything to lighten the mood, but he couldn't. He fell back on the bed as the Angels disappeared. He could hear Dean still in the room, felt it when his brother sat near him, and he sighed because he just didn't want to do this.
"Is it that bad?" Dean's quiet question pierced the silence of the room. "Having to look at my gorgeous mug all day long really makes you want to rip your eyes out?"
Sam gave a slight chuckle and turned on his side to face his brother, eyes still closed. He reached out and touched Dean's arm, just confirming the space between them. "It's not that, okay? It's just… I knew who I was, Dean. I was me. I was the blind hunter, and I was good at what I did, and I was fine with it. Now this… and I never asked for it, and now I've got it. My whole life a little part of me wondered what it would be like to see, but I knew I could never have it, so I stopped wanting it. I didn't let myself because I need to be okay with being who I was. It's more than just struggling to figure out what that look is on your face when you wake up in the mornings, or what that mass of I don't know what is sitting under the window."
"Comfy chair," Dean said absently. It was blue, and plush.
"I can figure this out, how to live like this if I have to, but I'm just not sure I want to."
Dean sighed and reached out to squeeze Sam's wrist. "Yeah man, I get it. I mean, I don't get it, but I also can't imagine what it would be like in your shoes. I walked through the motions with you your entire life, Sammy. Spent days in a blindfold, read Braille, learned to navigate the pitch blackness with the best of them. Hell, I don't even look when I pour coffee in the mornings because of your whistling thing. I get what it's like to live blind, but I don't get what it's like to be blind."
"I'm not asking you to," Sam said, feeling like a weight, just for the moment, had been lifted off of him. "I'm just asking you to stop trying to get me to give up my cane, to give up the way I see things, because I'm not sure I want things to be different. And…" Sam paused, because this had been floating around in the back of his mind, but he was too afraid to say it. Saying it would betray everything he was, everything he stood for and everything he had become. Saying it would mean admitting that sometimes he agreed with other people when they said his life could be easier if he could see.
"What?" Dean pressed.
But this was Dean, and Sam had to remember that. He had to remember that he could say anything to Dean, because more than likely, if anyone got him, Dean would. "And what if I like it, Dean? What if my brain starts to process things like a sighted person, and I start to like it, and then I lose it?"
Dean let out a breath, saying nothing. Sam didn't want to see Dean's face, with this fingers or eyes. He didn't want to know if what he'd said made any sort of impact. Dean shifted, then he gave Sam's leg a rough pat.
"Get some sleep, man. It's been a long couple of days, and we have to figure this Devi shit out tomorrow."
The unspoken, 'It's okay to be afraid, Sammy, because whatever happens, I'm here, and we'll figure this shit out.'
"Night," Sam said, and Dean left the room, and Sam switched off the light. He shed his clothes down to his boxers, wiggled under the covers and enjoyed the blackness of the night. He slept then, and sometime during his slumber he felt warm hands and soft lips and a comfort he hadn't let himself think about in years.
When he woke, he was alone, but the empty side of the bed was warm, and there was something there, resting on the pillow, and Sam didn't know what it was when he looked at it. But when he reached out and his fingers ghosted over it, he knew exactly what it was. It was soft, and downy, and it floated through his hand and disappeared.