I know, I know, I know - I'm a terrible person who doesn't deserve any of your kind words from past chapters. I'm going to apologize and then tell you that I'm quickly running out of time to write. I usually get to do most of my writing on the weekends, but I've been out of town just about every weekend lately with no end in sight. So here is the only promise I can make to all of you - I will do my darndest to write during the week and get this thing out as quickly as possible. I can't promise an update every week, but I will promise the story will get finished! Please forgive me - especially those of you who have told me they don't read WIP's but are reading mine regardless. I'm sorry for not being more prompt on this. Hopefully I can at least do some justice to the storyline to make it up to you all.
NOt a lot happens in this chapter - just some filler (which might be another reason it took me so long to get it up - I prefer writing action and angst to fillers), but there is definitely more coming soon.
THanks again so much for your patience and friendship. Enjoy...
It never seems to get any easier for Dean to wake into the darkness that consumes his world now. There is always that half second of hope as he transitions from being awake to opening his eyes, always that hope that this time he'll open them and be able to see again, more than just the faintest outline of shadows distinguishing light from dark. And there's always that disappointment as he realizes that the blindness is still there, still real, still debilitating.
This morning is no different, except that this morning the darkness is coupled with confusion and disorientation, a lack of knowledge of his new surroundings and an awareness that it isn't even simple deduction like in the hotel. In his lifetime the only home he's known better than Bobby's is Pastor Jim's, so Dean thinks it should be easy to remember his way around. But it's not knowledge of the corners and the hallways that poses a problem, it's the not knowing if there is a stack of books in his way, or a crate full of weapons, maybe a dismantled engine laid out on a tarp - who knows. With Bobby you could never quite tell what to expect - a bachelor through and through and wears his badge with pride.
"Sam?" Dean finally calls out into the darkness, grudgingly deciding he'd rather have his brother's help to find the bathroom than to go tumbling on his ass down a set of stairs.
But silence is his only answer, and a louder call yields the same response. Sam isn't there. And fuck if this isn't like the hotel all over again! His brother's just bound and determined to abandon him every chance he can get.
"Alright, if that's the way it's gonna be," Dean grumbles, resigned to once again making his way on his own. He starts slow, spinning around on his butt until his feet touch the cold wood floor beside the bed, and standing up. Slowly working his way forward, Dean's hand lingers on the bed until the length runs out and it suddenly becomes necessary to find a new prop for orientation. And then it's a few seconds before he finds the solid door, the smooth doorknob, and a final deep breath has Dean plunging out into the hulking unknown of the rest of Bobby's house.
Almost immediately Dean finds his first stumbling block, something small and light that is easily kicked out of the way but only after Dean loses his balance and has to grab onto the wall to stay upright. "Shit," he mutters under his breath, trying to control his racing heart and appear composed should anyone come across him stumbling through the hall.
It takes him a bit to prepare to push off again, already questioning the intelligence in going it alone. The smell of bacon frying in the kitchen comes wafting up the stairway accompanied by low voices, and Dean realizes Sam isn't as far off as he'd originally assumed. Maybe if he stands here long enough his brother will come to his rescue. But no, Dean chastises himself, you're not an invalid. You can do this on your own.
He knows the bathroom can't be that far away, just another few feet down the hall and to his left, and it's a whimpy thing to be needing his baby brother to help him get there. Mind made up Dean presses onward, hand to the wall trailing behind him as his feet sweep little semi-circles in search of more obstructions. Dean finds no more on his way, and happily collapses on top of the closed toilet seat lid as soon as he enters the bathroom. Another score for Dean Winchester.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Sam's been up since daybreak, Bobby even earlier than that, and the two of them spend the morning talking over mugs of hot coffee about Dean and what he's been through, and what the future holds. Bobby throws out a few suggestions right off the bat about possible solutions for Dean's blindness, but Sam shoots down every one as something they have already tried, or something Dean will never go for. Modern medicine won't help, and much of the supernatural possibilities come with too much of a price. And soon, short of burying themselves in research, they're both pretty much dried up when it comes to figuring out an answer.
Research will take time, time they don't have just this morning, and conversation tips from future cures to present day coping.
"I hate to ask this of you, Bobby," Sam hedges as they finally work their way into the kitchen hours later, wading through piles of research disguising itself as junk, "but if Dean's gonna stand any chance of finding his way around here without help we're gonna have to clean a lot of this stuff up. It's a tripping hazard."
Bobby reacts much the way Sam had anticipated, chewing on his lower lip in contemplation as he ponders the dangers his house and lifestyle pose to Dean. He adjusts the brim of his ever present baseball cap and nods agreeably. "Whatever you gotta do, Sam. This is his house, too. You boys can stay here as long as you need, so you might as well get comfortable."
Sam's nervous smile turns into a genuine one. "I appreciate that. And Dean will too."
"Tell you what, Sam. How's about I take Dean out to check on those cars this morning and you can fix up the house however you want. Later you can walk 'im through and do whatever you gotta do to get him independent. That work?"
Sam nods, and hands Bobby the bacon he's ready to fry up. "Thanks for the car stuff, too," he adds in a low whisper. Dean's not up yet, but he doesn't want to risk verbalizing anything that might hurt his brother's already weakened pride. "I know you don't need his help on that engine, but I really think it perked him up when you offered. Gonna make a real difference to him in the long run."
"Don't know what you're talking about," Bobby deadpans, immediately turning away from Sam to keep his facial expressions hidden. "That car out there's keeping me stumped beyond belief. I need that ear 'o your brother's to figure this thing out."
Sam smiles, pats his friend on the shoulder, and pretends he doesn't see what a big softie the older man is. "I'm just glad he can help. Thanks."
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Bobby's got breakfast under control, so Sam decides to go up and check on Dean, see if he's woken up yet. Climbing the stairs, he can see Dante snoozing right on the landing, back stretched out and aligned against the lip of the top step. Sam doesn't know much about dogs, but he's surprised the pup isn't down in the kitchen with his nose in the air sniffing out the bacon. He'd watched Rumsfeld skitter in there just seconds earlier, eagerly begging for his share of the good stuff.
Sam is halfway up the flight when Dante suddenly wakes, quickly turning so that his belly is on the ground, head perked up and looking somewhere down the hallway.
"What do you see, boy? What's going on?"
The dog doesn't respond, and Sam takes another step before he finally realizes what the Rottweiler is staring at. His brother is up, hand trailing along the hallway as he picks his way over to the stairs. Dean is close to the stairwell, leaning just a bit into the wall, and as he suddenly runs out of wall his steps falter, setting him off balance. And suddenly Dante is on his feet, muscular body pressing against Dean's legs.
Dean recovers quickly, laughing nervously as he reaches down to pat the dog on the head, pretending it was the dog - and not the absence of support - that had Dean almost falling. "Scared me there for a minute, boy. I didn't know you were there."
Choosing that moment to break in, Sam clears his throat and commences climbing the stairs. "Dean?"
His brother startles again, eyes darting to a spot over Sam's shoulder as he tries, in vain as usual, to pin point the direction of the voice. Sam is getting used to it by now, but the action still causes a lump to form in his throat.
"Huh, guess I didn't know you were there, either," Dean says, trying not to appear as freaked over the fact his other senses didn't compensate for him as he actually is. He gives Dante a final pat and then raises his hand to find the wall again.
"Sorry," Sam offers, genuinely remorseful.
Dean makes a sour face, practically glaring at his brother, and Sam quickly rushes on. "So Bobby's just about got breakfast on. You hungry?"
"Starving," Dean says honestly. "Ummm, where–?"
He doesn't have to finish the question for Sam to realize what he's asking, and Sam quickly closes the remaining distance between the two of them and offers Dean his arm. Together, they make the tedious trek down the flight of stairs and into the kitchen, Dante following closely behind.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"Mornin' Dean, how'd you sleep?" Bobby says as Sam guides his brother into the kitchen and directs him into a chair at the kitchen table. The older hunter eyes Dean nervously, still clearly unsure how to act around him now. Watching Bobby, Sam can almost hear the questions and uncertainties - what to say to Dean, how to say it, what's off limits - streaming through his mind.
Dean shrugs. "Just fine, I guess. No worse than normal."
"Temperature okay? Not too hot or cold?"
"Nope. It was fine, too."
An uncomfortable silence follows, and then Bobby tries again, looking at the large dog who has settled himself at Dean's feet. "Looks like you've found yourself an admirer."
"Huh?" Dean jerks his head around the room in search of what Bobby is referring to, forgetting for a moment that he can't see anything anyway.
"The dog, Dean. He's already following you everywhere you go. Seems to have taken to you."
"Oh," Dean says, no inflection to his tone. "Nearly tripped me, earlier."
"You alright?" Bobby turns toward Dante, hand up and poised ready to call the dog away from Dean.
"Dean nods. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's no problem, really."
"You're sure? Cause I can put him out in the yard if that'd be easier for you."
"No, really, it's fine." Dean insists, reaching down to pat Dante on the head again.
And then the silence returns, as though all topics have been exhausted already. Bobby returns to the bacon he's cooking, unsure what else to speak about. He pulls the bacon from the pan slowly, drawing out the time before he has to sit down at the breakfast table.
At the table, Dean slowly rubs Dante's head, his eyes averted downward so he doesn't have to pretend to be looking at anything, and it's clear that he has no intention of speaking unless he has to.
Which means Sam has to step up and break the tension in the air. "Dean, Bobby's going to have you help with that car this morning if you're okay with that."
Another shrug is his response. "Yeah, I guess I could give you a hand. Don't know how much help I'll be, though."
"You got the best ear I've ever known," Bobby speaks up, finally finding something he can say. He sits down at the table with a plate of bacon and another of eggs, the toast already stacked and waiting, and along with Sam begins to dole out the breakfast.
Dean scoffs. "Next to you, of course."
"I hope not. Cause I can't figure out what the hell the problem is. I'm hoping you'll have a different idea."
With Dean's plate full, Sam sets it in front of his brother and guides Deans hand around the plate, pointing out the location of the bacon, eggs, toast, and finally his juice cup and coffee mug. They eat in silence for a few minutes, Bobby and Sam both watching as Deans hands fumble with the food on the plate.
And then finally...
"You guys are watching me eat, aren't you?" Dean finally accuses, putting his toast back on the edge of the plate and glaring into the center of the table, hoping he's at least come close to finding the location of one of the two other men at the table.
"No, of course not," Sam says too quickly.
"Don't lie to me, Sam. I haven't heard either one of you take a bite since you dished out breakfast."
Sam freezes, breath hitched because he doesn't know how to respond to that. Admitting his guilt will only serve to tell Dean there's a reason they should be staring, but there's no way Dean will continue to accept his lies either.
"Sam," Dean presses again when it seems unclear whether or not his brother has any plans of answering.
Humor seems the best way to handle this and Sam finally replies, somewhat tense in the answer, but still forcing a laugh into the mix. "You've got to admit, Dean, I think this is the first time ever that you've dug into a meal without looking like a starving wolf at a buffet. We're just shocked that you haven't devoured the entire thing yet."
It's not that Dean truly believes Sam's excuse, but it's better than the alternative. Better than thinking his brother and Bobby see him as some freak of nature, using his hands to help shovel eggs onto his fork. So he accepts Sam's answer and forces a laugh of his own.
"It's not like it's five star cuisine," Dean quips back. "Kinda hard to gulp down a meal of cardboard and styrofoam."
"You watch your mouth, boy, or I just might actually slip some cardboard on your plate one of these days," Bobby snipes back good-naturedly. "Not like you could actually see the difference till it's in your mouth and you've chewed several bites.
And that's all it takes to lighten the mood in the room, reassuring all three men that things might actually manage to get back to normal sometime soon.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
After finishing breakfast, Sam leads Dean back upstairs to get dressed and then back down again, leaving him in the living room to wait for Bobby as Sam heads back up for a shower. Dante is never far behind, he's clearly picked Dean as his new "person" and seems to be determined never to let Dean out of his sight.
"Bobby'll be down here in just a minute," Sam says once Dean is settled in an easy chair beside the entrance to the living room. "You good to wait for him or do you want me to stay here?"
Dean growls, clearly annoyed at Sam's suggestion that he can't wait alone. "I'm a big boy, Sam. I can take care of myself for five minutes. You just go get your girly shower with your flowery bubble bath. I've got Dante here to take care of me." He pats the Rottie's head and shoots a smug smile in Sam's direction
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Several minutes later Dean hears Bobby stomping down the stairs as though he weighs about 5 tons, and the young hunter has to smile at the noise. It never ceases to amaze him how Bobby can be so stealthy and light on his feet during a hunt, yet lose ever last ounce of that when safe in his own home. It's like the man lives in two different worlds.
Outside the living room the floorboards creak as Bobby closes the remaining distance between himself and Dean, and Dean turns his head in the direction of his friend. "You ready?"
"Sure am," Bobby says, and suddenly the footsteps are back. Dean braces himself, ready to accept the help, but suddenly realizes that the sound of Bobby's footsteps is receding. "Tell you what, Dean. I've got to grab a few things and I'll meet you out in the garage. Be there in just a sec."
He's not sure whether to laugh or be pissed as he hears the front door creak open and then slam closed before Dean can even open his mouth to protest. In a split second Dean is alone in the living room. Bobby's just walked out on him.