Chapter Eighteen

"I'm gonna kick that idjit's ass when he gets back," Bobby growled under his breath as he walked over to where Dean stood in front of his sleeping brother, the mugs of milk he had been holding now sitting on the coffee table.

"Not if I get to him first," Dean said and narrowed his eyes at the sight of the purple bruise forming on Sam's cheek.

Bobby gave the young men a sympathetic look.

"What's gotten into Dad?" Dean asked quietly, "He was so worried about Sam before and now that he's safe… he doesn't want anything to do with him."

The older brother sighed, "Is it because Sam's blind? Did Dad think that Sam would want to hunt again after we rescued him? That he'd have seen the error of his ways and come crawling back, begging to get back in the game?"

Bobby didn't reply and Dean knew that it was exactly what he believed John thought.

Both men jumped when Sam's quiet voice reached their ears; they had thought he was asleep.

"You don't have to stay with me, Dean, if you don't want to. You can go hunting with Dad."

Dean knelt down beside the couch and gripped his brother's shoulder, "Why the hell would I want to be with Dad? He's an asshole."

Sam shrugged and sucked in a watery breath, "You'll be happy if-"

"No Sam," Dean interrupted, "I'm happy now. If I went off with Dad I'd worry about you every day. If I'm here, I won't."

Sam blinked his milky eyes and a tear dripped down his cheek.

"You can't listen to Dad," Dean told him, "He's… he's messed up right now. He isn't thinking straight, okay? Whatever he says to you, don't listen."

Sam bit his lip and his older brother shook him for emphasis, "Right? Don't listen to him, Sam."

"Okay," the younger man whispered, "Dean? Can we go back to bed now?"

Dean took his hands from Sam's shoulders, "Sure thing. C'mon, let me help you."

Sam allowed Dean to take his elbow and guide him away from the couch. Dean grabbed his brother's cane from where it had fallen and turned in the direction of the staircase.

"I'll be right back," Dean told Bobby, "Just let me get Sam to bed."

The grizzled hunter shook his head though, "I'll clean up this mess. You just get yourselves to sleep."

The older brother smiled gratefully as Bobby began to gather up Sam's spilled Braille papers and the untouched coffee mugs.

SPN

Randall Gorman picked up the phone on his side of the Plexiglass and greeted William Findlay, former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital.

"Orange is a good colour on you," Randall commented casually.

The other man frowned, his blue eyes narrowing.

"What do you want, Findlay?" Randall asked, exasperated, "I have other jobs you know."

"Than why did you come?" the other man asked, one blond eyebrow raised quizzically.

Randall ground his teeth together but said nothing.

"I need you to find someone for me," Findlay told him.

The criminal scoffed, "Hire a private detective."

"I can't," Findlay told him, leaning forward, "He's from Dunhill."

Randall frowned and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, "I heard about that. The fuck happened?"

Findlay's eyes darkened, "One of Bates' kids. Turned out his people did miss him. Next thing I know there's Feds ransacking my office, charging me with accessory to kidnapping and murder."

Randall shook his head. He may not have been a stand-up citizen but even he steered clear of human trafficking; it was just too messy for him.

"So, what? You want me to find some kid? That's all?"

Easy-peasey, Randall thought, that shit was all over the news still.

"I want you to find the kid who's missing," Findlay informed him, "The others all ended up in protective custody and everything… but not him. Family had no contact with the authorities. He's still out there somewhere."

Randall's expression turned skeptical.

"You want me to find this one kid? That's it?"

Findlay nodded, "Just tell me where he is and I'll do the rest. You don't have to get your hands dirty."

After a long pause, Randall nodded, "Sure, why the hell not? He have a name?"

The former director of Dunhill shook his head, "But I can give you a description; he shouldn't be hard to miss."

SPN

Dean pulled the blanket up to Sam's chin- a habit from when his brother had been young- and sighed.

"Sam, don't worry about Dad."

His brother's milk-white eyes were open, staring at the ceiling.

"I mean it," Dean continued, "Go to sleep."

Sam sighed and rolled over onto his side, his eyes finally sliding closed.

Dean remained where he was for a long moment, just watching his brother.

He simply had no idea what was going on with their father. John had been as worried as Dean when they'd found out Sam had been abducted but now… he seemed to think he could just pass Sam off to Bobby and go on his merry way.

Was it really because Sam was blind, and in John's eyes, useless?

Dean's hands clenched into fists and he longed to punch something.

That was not fair. That wasn't fair to Sam. He hadn't asked to end up like this! He didn't want to be like this but he was trying his damnedest to work through it.

Couldn't John not think about hunting for one fucking minute and focus on what his kids needed? No, that seemed like too much to ask of him.

Dean walked to the door and flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into darkness.

Shaking his head, the older bother left the room, heading downstairs.

Bobby was sitting on the couch, Sam's scattered papers stacked neatly before him, apparently deep in thought.

"Didn't I tell you to git to bed too?"

Dean just grimaced and sat down beside the older man. He glanced down at the Braille papers; eyes sweeping over the raised dots that meant nothing to him but were yet so powerful to someone like his brother.

Wiping a hand down his face, Dean peered at Bobby, waiting for the older man to speak.

"Y'all know how stubborn yer Daddy is," the grizzled hunter finally said, "He ain't gonna give up on this after the month's gone."

Dean nodded and sighed. John would expect him to leave Sam and continue hunting with him.

"An' good luck trying to reason with him," Bobby continued.

Dean reached out and shifted through the pages, his fingers brushing the raised dots as he moved the papers.

"I mean what I said before," he told the older man, "I am not going with Dad if he wants to act like a shithead."

Although Dean wished Sam would agree to stay here, with Bobby, he knew that his sibling would be miserable without him. At least if Sam went with them, he'd be with his family.

Sighing, Dean stood and stretched his arms over his head.

"Thanks for helping, Bobby," he said but the other hunter waved his words away.

"I didn't do anything. Now, get some rest, we'll deal with yer Daddy tomorrow."

Dean scowled, "Or whenever he decides to come back."

SPN

Randall Gorman stared at the interior of the Greyhound bus station the kid had been picked up from.

It wasn't much of a lead. Not really a lead at all. The kid could have come from miles away to this place. For anyone else it would have meant a dead end, but Randall wasn't just anyone.

He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, blocked out the sounds of people walking, people talking, the drone of the PA system overhead calling out bus arrivals and departures.

In his mind's eye he could see a map of the terminal, clearly make out the rows of seats, the vending machines, the ticket desks. Although he had had no contact with the kid personally, Randall imagined the boy walking tiredly across the tile floor, perhaps a duffel bag or backpack over one shoulder, thinking only about his destination, whatever that had been.

Randall smiled and opened his eyes, walking straight towards the bank of seats on the right side of the terminal, close to the vending machines. The man sat down in a free seat and leaned back, closing his eyes again.

Yes, this was it. The boy had been sitting in this very chair. Without opening his eyes, Randall raised his hands and rested them on the metal arms of the seat, concentrating.

The kid had been nervous and excited; happy to be going wherever he was headed and sad to leave his loved ones behind. Randall concentrated harder on the residual emotions left by the young man he was seeking. He was able to envision the boy, using his talent as well as Findlay's description. The kid was tall for his age- only eighteen- with long, narrow facial features, shaggy chestnut-coloured hair and almond-shaped green eyes. He was strong, as well. Must be an athlete of some kind, Randall assumed, and continued concentrating, trying to gather as much information as possible from the scraps of emotion leftover.

Where were you going? Randall thought, brow furrowed.

School. Of course. A kid that young, probably fresh out of high school, too, on his way to college.

Randall smiled and opened his eyes. Now that he had a strong hold on the kid's emotions, he'd be able to track him well enough. Turning his gaze to the floor, a thin gold thread seemed to trail away to the front doors of the bus station.

Looks like I'm going to Dunhill, Randall thought and stood, walking briskly to the parking lot towards his rental car, beginning the game of cat and mouse.

SPN

"Hey! Sam! You hearing me?" Dean asked as he turned around and saw his brother's morose expression.

"Huh?" Sam muttered tiredly, stirring the contents of a bowl of cereal, restlessly.

"Do you want to keep reading that monster book after breakfast?" Dean repeated the question for the third time, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.

"Oh… uh… I don't feel like reading, Dean," Sam muttered, scooped up a spoonful of soggy cereal and tipped the utensil, listening to the plunk as it fell back into the bowl.

"Well, what do you want to do then?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

Frowning, the older brother stepped forward, one hand raised to press against his sibling's brow.

"I'm fine!" Sam exclaimed and leaned back.

The younger man sighed and pushed the cereal bowl away, "I'm done."

Dean saw that his brother had barely eaten anything but said nothing. He grabbed the bowl and dumped the mushy mess down the drain.

"When do you think Dad will come back?"

The question had been asked so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear it over the running water.

Dean sighed, "I don't know, Sammy."

Turning off the kitchen tap, Dean turned around, "It doesn't matter anyway when he'll be back, 'cause you're not going to listen to any of his bullshit, right?"

"Right?" Dean pressed when no response was forthcoming.

"Yeah," Sam sighed sadly.

What happened to you, Sammy? Dean thought, if Dad you 'no' you'd tell him to shove it.

The older brother glanced at the bruise still quite clear on his sibling's face and shook his head.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged, "Sure."

Dean led the way out to the front door, listening to Sam's cane tapping along behind him.

As the Winchesters were putting on their shoes, Bobby peered through the living room doorway.

"Don't stray too far, boys," he cautioned and Dean sighed in exasperation.

"Bobby, we're not little kids," he snarked, "We can take care of ourselves."

"I know that, ya idjit," Bobby snapped back, "But it looks like its gonna start pouring any minute and you two don't wanna get drenched."

Dean looked up through the small window in the front door and was surprised to see that the sky had indeed taken on a dark hue. He frowned; it had been bright and sunny when he'd woken up.

"I mean it," Bobby continued, looking pointedly at Sam.

"If it starts raining we'll come back inside," Dean promised.

"C'mon Sammy," he placed a hand on his brother's elbow and guided Sam out the door.

SPN

Sam felt like he could keep walking forever. Dean had let him lead the way, saying that it would be good practice and Sam hadn't objected. He listened intently to the crunch of gravel beneath their feet as he and Dean walked slowly down the road that led to Bobby's Salvage Yard.

The wind had picked up a bit, chilling the air, but Sam didn't mind. It helped clear his mind.

What was he going to do? His father clearly didn't want him around and Dean only wanted him to be happy. If he stayed at Bobby's he'd be making John happy and maybe even Dean but he would be miserable. He didn't want to be away from his brother. Even though Dean said he'd stay with Sam, the young man knew that his brother looked up to their father and would probably follow him into Hell and back if John told him to.

Sam wished his father would just listen to him. He might not be able to see but he could read and that meant he could research. Sure, it wasn't great, but it was a very important part of the job and needed to be done.

But Dad thinks I'm useless, Sam thought mutinously and stumbled when he tripped over an obstacle in the road.

"Whoa! Careful, Sammy," Dean grabbed his arm to steady him, "Maybe we should turn back."

Sam shook his head, "I want to keep going."

"Okay," Dean replied and they continued walking.

Sam raised his free hand and rubbed at his eyes.

Maybe Dad's right, Sam admitted, I can't even read the frickin' alphabet anymore; I am useless.

"Stop it," Dean's voice startled Sam and he jumped, "What?"

"Beating yourself up," his brother replied as though he could read Sam's thoughts.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam muttered but Dean scoffed.

"I know that look, Sam," he continued, "You're still thinking about what Dad did last night."

It wasn't a question. Dean knew exactly what was on his brother's mind.

Sam hunched his shoulders, "What if Dad's right, Dean? I can barely read Braille, what if I never get it?"

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him, "You will, Sammy. It just takes practice, like everything else. Remember when I taught you to drive the Impala? You thought you'd never be able to do that either but you figure it out."

Sam bit his lip, "This is different-"

"How? Huh?" Dean replied, "How is this different."

"Dad doesn't want me to do it," Sam answered quietly. John had been adamant about Sam learning to drive the Impala so he would be able to come with his father and brother on hunts and get them back to the motel room if they were too badly injured to do so themselves.

"So what?" Dean replied, "He didn't want you to graduate high school but you did."

Sam glanced up when he felt a cold drop of water hit his face.

"I don't know what to tell you, Sam," Dean continued, "Do whatever you think is best. Whatever you do, you won't be disappointing me, okay?"

Sam nodded, "Maybe we should go back, it's starting to rain."

"Yeah," Dean agreed and turned Sam around. They began walking back the way they came when the sky opened up and seemed to dump chilly water on them. Sam gasped in shock and wrapped his free arm around his middle, already shivering.

"Shit!" Dean swore, spitting out rainwater.

"W-we should c-call Bobby," Sam suggested, teeth chattering.

He heard as Dean patted his pockets, muttering obscenities as he did so.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed again and Sam narrowed his eyes, "What's wrong?"

"I think I left my phone at the house."

Sam sighed and blinked water out of his eyes.

"C'mon, let's hurry," Dean grabbed his elbow and began tugging him along at a steady pace.

"Dean!" Sam cried as he tripped, staggering and almost falling.

His brother didn't stop and Sam struggled to keep up with his sibling.

"D-Dean!" Sam called and finally Dean stopped.

"What?"

Sam gasped for breath, his side burning uncomfortably.

"Sam? You okay?" he felt his brother grip his shoulders with both hands.

"M-my side-" Sam ground out, "H-hurts."

"You think you can walk?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "Walk… yeah… I can do that."

"Sorry man," Dean apologized, and squeezed his brother's shoulder.

Sam nodded didn't protest when Dean took hold of his elbow, prying the cane away from already-freezing fingers.

SPN

Bobby Singer glanced up when the front door slammed open and two soaking wet and freezing Winchesters stumbled inside.

"Jesus Christ boys!" Bobby exclaimed, "You don't have the brains to call for a ride?!"

"F-forgot my phone," Dean replied as he shucked off his waterlogged boots and turned to help Sam out of his dripping flannel over-shirt.

Bobby said nothing but moved to the stairs, heading to the linen closet to grab towels. With his armload of soft, fluffy donations, the grizzled hunter came back down and glanced at the brothers still wearing most of their clothes.

"You'll never get warm like that," he commented, "Take 'em all off."

Dean scowled immediately, "All?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Everything but yer panties, Princess."

Striding past the boys, Bobby deposited the towels onto the couch, arranging them into a nest and then made his way to the kitchen, nodding with satisfaction at the twin piles of drenched clothes in front of the brother who now only wore their boxers.

"Go on into the living room," he told Dean, "I'll be out in a minute."

Bobby took a few minutes to make a pot of tea- something the boys were sure to hate- and then once again returned to the living room. Sam and Dean were both bundled up in the towels, shaking, faces pale.

Bobby set the teapot down on the coffee table and poured two mugs full of the fragrant liquid, "Drink this."

Dean scowled, "I hate tea."

"Than you should have listened to me when I said it was gonna rain," Bobby growled and set the first cup in Sam's trembling hands.

The grizzled hunter looked worriedly at the young man; Sam's face was drawn and as white as paper, his lips almost purple. Dean seemed to notice Bobby's scrutiny and shifted closer to his sibling so that their shoulders touched.

"H-have yo-you h-heard from Dad y-yet?" Sam asked, his voice whispery.

Bobby shook his head, "Don't worry about him, son. Just concentrate on gettin' warmed up."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean urged, "Drink your tea."

Bobby was glad to see the older sibling recovering quickly from being out in the downpour for close to forty-five minutes but he was concerned for Sam.

The young man was still shaking; his face was still deathly pale. Bobby made a mental note to keep a very close eye on his recovery.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against his brother's shoulder.

"Hey! Boy!" Bobby reached out and shook Sam's knee, "Keep yer eyes open."

"Sammy," Dean said concernedly, "Drink the tea. You'll feel better."

Bobby frowned when Sam didn't reply right away; he sighed and stared sightlessly down at his lap.

Dean grabbed the cup from his brother's hands for fear that it would spill and reached up to palm Sam's face.

"I'll get some blankets," Bobby commented, not waiting for Dean to answer and headed back upstairs. He grabbed the heavy feather-filled duvet off Sam's bed and bundled it in his arms, next he grabbed a hot water bottle from the bathroom cupboard.

Dean had begun to rub Sam's arms vigorously, talking nonsensical to him, trying to keep him awake.

"Here," Bobby held out the thick blanket, "Wrap 'im up in this."

Dean took the duvet gratefully and draped it around his brother so that only Sam's face could be seen.

Bobby boiled some water in the kettle, preparing to fill up the water bottle.

The grizzled hunter was carefully pouring hot water into the bottle when the front door slammed open, causing him to jump.

"What the hell-" Bobby half-turned and saw a tall, dark shadow looming over the brothers in the living room.

Author's Note:

1. Thanks to nupinoop296, baileylovesyou0400, cold kagome, MysteryMadchen, mandancie, maxandkiz, L.A.H.H, BranchSuper, KatyMVT, SamDeanLover28, babyreaper, SherlockedForever15, CommChatter, AshleyMarie84, Awayward, SPN Mum, Souless666, neko-jin72, angel1718 and Guest for reviewing.

2. Thanks to everyone who alerted, followed and favourited.

3. Please leave a review and I'll try and update really soon!