Hey guys! Here's another chapter for you. It's got a bit of a cliff hanger to it, and I apologize for that. but it was either that, or have me go a little further and leave you with an even bigger cliff hanger. Figured you'd probably appreciate the post instead of having to wait longer. Things have been busy, so the best I can tell you is that I will get the next chapter up as soon as I can!

On another note, seeing as how the majority of you are interested in the disability fics involving the boys, I wanted to send your attention to another author on the site who is writing a Dean amputation fic. If you liked my HOBAT, you'll probably enjoy this one. It's his first fic on the site and I want to encourage the concept! If you're interested, check out Avalanche, by coldfury1.

THanks again for reading! Enjoy! Until next time...

Over the next week things seem to fall into a comfortable pattern at Bobby's house. Dean is getting along much better now, finally having acquainted himself with the lay out of the house and the yard - although Dante is never far away, always ready to place himself between Dean and obstacles in his path. He spends much of his days down in Bobby's garage, working on whatever car the older man decides to pull in the stall each morning. So far he's fixed two radiators, replaced three sets of spark plugs, several brake pads and drums, and replaced more little odds and ends than he can count, and now Bobby's actually presented him with the task of rebuilding an entire engine from scratch. Granted, either Bobby or Sam has been hovering pretty close by in case he can't find something or the task proves to require someone with two good eyes. But for the most part he finds that by taking it slow and getting a good feel of the inner workings of the car before he starts taking it apart he can function pretty well. He's got enough years under his belt pre-blindness that he can pretty much remember where things should be. And it helps that he can still picture things in his head despite the fact that he can't see the real thing.

In the late afternoons Dean and Sam head out for a jog, going at least five miles and often more. It seems to be getting easier as they find their rhythm again, and now Dean's hand just barely skims the back of Sam's shoulder for a general idea of his brother's proximity. He's beginning to trust more - both himself and Sam - and it makes everything that much easier to handle.

By dinnertime everyone is exhausted, and all five of them - the two dogs and the three men - eat quickly before making a beeline for the living room and an evening's worth of relaxation. Most of the time they find something to watch on TV - something with a lot of dialogue and not much action, that Dean can understand without seeing what's going on. And more often than not most of them doze off before the show ends.

All in all things are beginning to become normal which, in Winchester Law, ultimately means that things are about to get shaken up.

SUPERNATURAL

It's eight days after Dean drives the Impala that Sam answers Bobby's phone and gets an earful from a fellow hunter about some strange stuff going on less than an hour south of the junkyard. He'd hoped Bobby could make a run down there and take care of it, asks if Sam would pass the information along to the seasoned hunter, and Sam assures the man he will.

Except that Bobby is away on a vehicle pick-up for the afternoon, and Sam has plenty of time on his hands with Dean outside working fervently on the old engine. So Sam takes it upon himself to do the research on the hunt - and gets it done in record time.

By all accounts it's pretty cut and dry. A spirit haunting an old farmhouse, only one death in its entire history - the young wife of a farmer in the 1930's who died in childbirth. She was buried in the families burial plot, a plot that had recently been disturbed when an excavation crew mistakenly started digging at the wrong site. Seems pretty obvious who the spirit is and what needs to be done to be rid of her.

Reading over the material, Sam manages to convince himself that he can do this one on his own before Bobby even returns that evening. An hour to drive down there, two to dig up the plot and salt and burn the bones, and another hour to drive back. Four hours tops, and it's barely two o'clock. At this rate he'll be home by dinner time.

Grabbing his coat and keys, Sam runs out of the house and across the junkyard to the garage Dean's working in. Dante raises an eyebrow as he storms in, but otherwise remains where he is, safely planted near Dean's leg as the young Winchester sits at a counter working on the engine.

"Hey Dean," Sam calls, knocking on the doorframe at the same time. He winces as his brother jumps, regretting the abruptness to which he arrived. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I thought I'd head out for a bit, run a few errands. You gonna be alright here for a while?"

Dean hesitates for a minute, then reaches out to the countertop, seeking out a free space before setting down the piece he's got in his hand. "Mind if I come with you?"

Damn, hadn't expected that one. Sam stammers over his response, "It's uh...gonna be boring, just uh...ya know, groceries and supplies and stuff. Thought you'd want to be working on the engine."

"Dude, I've been working on this damn thing for the past two days. I could use the break. It would be nice to get away from here for a while."

Sam pauses again, twisting his hands around each other as he tries to figure out a way to keep Dean from going on this trip.

But just because Dean's lost his sight doesn't mean he's lost his other abilities. If anything, things are more enhanced, and Dean is quicker than Sam. "You trying to hide something from me, Sammy? Got something you're not telling me?"

"No, of course not," Sam says, altogether too quickly. It gives him away.

Dean chuckles. "When it come's to lying, you've always been your own worst enemy, Sam. Now come on, what's going on? What don't you want me to know?" He gets up from the stool and grabs his cane, tapping it out in a surprisingly straight line toward the door of the barn.

"Seriously, Dean. It's nothing. Just didn't figure you'd want to be out buying green beans and pork chops."

Standing just a couple of feet away from Sam, Dean turns in the general direction of his brother, sunglasses hiding the fact that his eyes are still settled somewhere to the left. "Didn't figure you would, either." He huffs in irritation. "We've been over this, Sam. I'm blind, not brain dead. I can tell when you're lying to me, and you, my friend, are definitely lying to me."

Sam sighs, knows when he's been beat. "Alright, alright, there's a hunt. It's a real simple one, but I just figured you probably wouldn't want to hear about it since...you know..."

"Since I'm blind?" Dean supplies. "Since I can't be out there helping you? Cause, you know, I'm so much happier not knowing that you're out there hunting, not knowing if you're hurt."

Sam stays silent, fiddles with the lint in his pockets and wishes he could just disappear.

"I think maybe you should wait for Bobby on this one, Sam. The two of you can go down there together and take care of this." He seems remorseful but resigned, clearly knows his days as a hunter have long since passed.

"I'm trying to take care of this one so that Bobby doesn't have to," Sam protests. "He's been running himself ragged taking care of us and the junkyard. I just thought he could use the break."

"Uh uh, Sam, no way. You're not going down there without backup. It's just not happening." The way Dean stands, arms crossed, muscles rippling under his black shirt, even though he's not looking directly at Sam it's still obvious that he means business. That he'll fight Sam with everything he's got to keep him from going on this hunt alone.

Sam sighs. He's tempted just to turn and run, banking on the fact that his brother won't be able to keep up, to find him, before he's long since left him in a trail of dust. But somehow he can't seem to bring himself to do that. He doesn't have the heart to rub his brother's face in the reality of what he can no longer do. But he's not giving up that easily, either, and what he says next surprises even himself.

"Alright, fine. Why don't you come with me."

He watches as Dean jerks, clearly not having expected that, of all things, as Sam's answer.

"We've been over this already," Dean replies. It's obvious that it kills him to admit it. "I'm not going to be of any use to you. You may as well be going alone for all the good I can do."

"But you're not gonna let me go on my own. And I'm not gonna drag Bobby into a simple hunt that I could do with one arm tied behind my back. So either you come with me, or I do go alone."

Dean goes silent, taking a minute to think. Beside him Dante nudges at Dean's hand with his head, as if to say I'm here. Take me with you and we'll be fine.

"We'll start out down there," Dean finally relents. He senses the smile that graces his brother's face immediately and holds up a hand to stop him. "On the way down you tell me everything you know about this hunt. And I mean everything. I'll know if you're lying."

Sam nods his agreement, but silently.

"Speak up, Sam. I can't hear you nodding."

"Sorry," Sam mutters, immediately feeling ashamed at himself. "Promise - no lying."

"Ok. So once I've heard the details, then I'll decide if this is something you can do on your own. If I don't think it's safe we turn the car right back around and wait for Bobby. Agreed?"

He holds his breath as he waits for Sam's answer, knowing in truth that there's not a whole hell of a lot that he can do if Sam doesn't agree to the terms. But he has to hope that Sam's respect for him extends to trusting his instincts on a hunt...even blind.

SUPERNATURAL

By the time they make it to the hunt Sam has done a terrific job on convincing Dean that this is a simple, no worries, salt and burn. So good, in fact, that now Dean's convinced it's safe enough for him to come with Sam, help him out. At least keep him company as he digs. And the thing is, Sam can't exactly come up with a plausible reason why Dean shouldn't follow along since he can't turn it back around and say it's too dangerous.

Sam finds the farmhouse easily enough. It's set back far from the road, separated by its nearest neighbor by acres and acres of wheat fields on every side. But there's also a sign, albeit an old and falling apart sign, but a sign nonetheless that declares the name of the farm in faded black letters.

"They haven't done much for the road in a while," Dean observes as the classic Chevy bumps and jostles over the many potholes marring the hard dirt surface.

"Not much reason too," Sam replies, recalling details he'd dug up regarding this farmhouse. No one's lived here for years."

"So then why the construction?" Dean asks, although he's already been given the answer. And there's no doubt in Sam's mind that he remembers the details, too. Seems like he's just trying to get Sam off the topic of him coming on the hunt, too.

"This farm has been handed down through the family since it was built. I guess the current generation decided to try and fix it up, maybe move back here at some point. They had plans to build a new house on the premises."

"Well, let's see if we can make that possible for them," Dean says as he feels the car come to a stop. He's immediately got his hand on the door handle, preparing to exit the car before Sam has even turned off the engine.

"Dean–" Sam hesitates, trying to find the right words. But as he sees the signs of tension in his brother's body, the fear that he'll be told he can't help, Sam doesn't have the heart to turn him down.

"Just...come get yourself something for protection. You can have the EMF and, I don't know, some salt or something." He's not ready to give his brother a gun, and truth be told, he doesn't figure Dean would take one even if it were offered. There's too much chance for something to go wrong - too much chance for Sam to be on the receiving end of it. No way would Dean allow that to happen.

He sees his brother's body sag in relief and convinces himself that he's done the right thing as he watches Dean pull himself from the car and feel his way along its contours to the trunk. Scanning their weapons cache in search of anything he's comfortable giving Dean, Sam spies the material for the salt and burn, decides that will work. It's a normal occurrence for one of them to carry those materials while the other stands point. So it shouldn't be too much of a blow that Dean gets relegated to carrying them.

"Here, put these in your pockets," Sam says, handing Dean the lighter and the lighter fluid and the salt. He next grabs the EMF reader, turning the equipment on first, and hands those to his brother. You don't need sight to hear the EMF scream out the presence of a ghost, and Dean has learned to compensate enough with his other senses that he should have no trouble hearing the variations in the volume and the intensity. Dean nods, trying hard to keep a stoic face, but Sam can see it's tearing his brother up inside not to take point on this hunt. And he's obviously taken note of the fact that Sam hasn't handed him anything more dangerous than a canister of salt to ward off the ghost. But he has to commend his brother for trying to make the most of a harsh situation, and Sam does him the favor of not saying anything more about it.

Sam grabs one gun, loaded with iron rounds, and stuffs it in the waistband of his jeans. Grabs another loaded with rocksalt, and holds it at his side while he hefts the shovel over his shoulder.

"You ready?" he asks Dean, reaching for his brother's hand and planting it firmly on his shoulder.

Dean give's a nod and a slight squeeze to Sam's shoulder. "Let's get this bitch," he growls out, and steps off as Sam moves toward the back of the house to where they'd begun the excavations.

It's obvious where the excavation crew has been digging, equally obvious that the crew had up and quickly abandoned the job. There's a backhoe, still covered in dirt with half a shovelful settled in the scoop. A bulldozer stopped still, in the process of flattening out some ground. Shovels are laying helter skelter on the ground, amidst a few hard hats and beer bottles. Obviously the ghost had wasted no time making her presence known just as soon as they'd hit her grave.

Sam explains all of this in great detail to Dean as they make their way over to the excavation site. He's become quite adept at guiding his brother through obstacles such as these, and interrupts himself several times to announce the presence of a shovel or a mound of dirt, or any of numerous other obstacles that might trip the sightless man up.

Eventually they make their way over to the location of the grave, and Sam looks in to see piles of dirt strewn on top, with the old pine box just barely poking through. A few splinters of wood are mixed in with the dirt, indicating that the backhoe had managed to break through the box before they'd realized what it was. "Looks like they started trying to cover it back up just before she arrived," Sam observes. "This is even better than I expected. Digging won't take me any time at all."

"Good. Then just get it over with so we can get out of here." Dean says. "I feel exposed out here."

You're the one who wanted to come, Sam thinks, but wisely chooses to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he drops the shovel to the ground and gets ready to jump into the open grave. "How's the EMF sounding?"

"Quiet as a church mouse," Dean replies, looking down at the meter out of habit more than anything else. He obviously doesn't see anything, and covers by keeping his head bent for several more seconds as he moves his hand and the box toward his brother.

"I don't need to see it," Sam replies, god love him. "I trust you. Now, do you want to sit?"

The idea of sitting in the dirt isn't exactly high on Dean's list of fun things to be doing, but he figures it's better than standing, afraid to move for fear he might end up in some hole. He nods, finds Sam's arm again, and allows his brother to lower him to the lip of the grave, legs dangling inside as he sits upright on the edge. He hears a rustle and feels Sam guide his hand over a few inches at his side until it brushes up against the smooth contours of his favorite shotgun.

"There's two cartridges of rock salt in there," Sam says hesitantly. "Just um...just don't shoot me."

It makes sense, Dean supposes. Sam can't exactly hold onto the shotgun if he's got both hands on the shovel. But still, even Dean has to wonder about the logistics of giving a gun to a blind man. Sure, the rock salt wouldn't kill his little brother, but Dean's got first hand knowledge to know it sure won't feel good.

Dean nods, just as tense as Sam sounds, and his hand grips harder around the barrel of the gun. "Wouldn't think of it." And it's the most honest thing either one of them has said since they left Bobby's.

Without further preamble Sam jumps into the open grave and begins digging out the last of the dirt from inside, offering commentary as he goes to keep Dean in the loop.

Maybe it's the fact that Dean's missing one of his senses, or the fact that Sam's talking too loud to allow either one of them to really focus on their surroundings. Maybe it's that neither one of them had expected trouble. But whatever it is, when their ghost sneaks up on the boys less than five minutes later neither one of them is fully prepared to react.