Outside Looking In, pt 4
Sam blinded by a hunt, the Winchesters look for solutions.
Sundays were always Jim's favorite. For obvious reasons. He accepted the handshake from one his parishioners with a smile and a blessing. He turned to the next in the queue of people at the door and stopped short.
"John?" he asked.
"We need to talk," John said smoothly, taking his hand like he was just any other member of the congregation and moving on.
"Of course," Jim managed. This Sunday was about to get a lot more interesting.
After he had locked up, Jim made his way to his attached house, unsurprised to find John lounging on the front step. He was just lucky John hadn't picked the lock.
"How can I help, John?" he asked, unlocking the door.
"There's a hunt, nearby." Straight to business, John Winchester. Jim liked that about him.
"And you need my help?" he surmised.
"No. I need someone to watch my boys."
Jim reevaluated John. He looked a little more harried than usual, maybe it had something to do with his request. "Last I talked to you, you were taking those two on the hunts with you. This big bad hurting teenagers?"
John blinked at him. "You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Sam . . . Sam's blind."
Jim rarely had to ask anyone to repeat themselves—years of listening to prayer requests from quiet ninety-year olds to shy nine-year olds had given him that skill. But that couldn't be right.
"Blind?" he checked.
"Yeah, 'bout a month ago." John scrubbed his face wearily. "Look, I don't have time to explain it now. Can you take them? Just until Wednesday, at latest."
Jim swallowed all of his questions and nodded. He may not approve of John's methods much of the time, but he would always support him. "I'll get the guest room set up."
"Thanks, Jim." John briefly set a heavy paw on Jim's shoulder before striding out the door.
Jim took a second to reassess. Sam—the bright thirteen year old who was so eager to learn—blind. Jim sent up a silent prayer for strength and wisdom before turning on his house with a vicious eye. Several of the elder in his congregation had hinted that Jim should marry, more proper for a pastor to be married, and now, if only for the sake of having a cleaner house, Jim wished he would've listened. As he was scooping up various trash and scattered papers, the Winchesters snuck up on him.
"Dean, help Pastor Jim," John commanded. Jim turned, expecting to see Dean immediately jump into action—a command from his father, if Jim recollected correctly, was like law—but Dean was steering Sam to the couch first, then turning to help.
"Sorry about the mess," Jim apologized automatically.
Dean spared him a brief shrug and grin, but his attention was mostly on the youngest Winchester.
"Sam, you need to use the restroom?" Dean asked.
"No, I'm good." Sam's voice was a bare whisper.
"Boys, be good." John turned to Jim and looked so pathetically grateful that John felt his apprehensions melt away.
"They'll be fine," Jim said reassuringly. John left after murmuring something in Dean's ear. He didn't say anything to Sam, Jim noted with disapproval, but he kept his mouth shut.
"You boys hungry? It's about lunch time," Jim asked.
"Yes, we are." Dean's strong voice surprised Jim, but judging from the way Sam shrank, Jim realized he probably would've refused any food.
"How does grilled cheese sound? Sam, you like to dip it in tomato soup, right?"
Sam's head jerked up slightly in the first sign of recognition since they had arrived. "Uh, yeah."
"C'mon, then. Get up, turn to your left, walk about ten paces straight," Jim said casually.
Dean stared at Jim, opening his mouth as if to protest. Jim grabbed Dean's shoulder warningly and shook his head.
"Could you get the plates, Dean? I'll make the sandwiches. If you could, there's a can of tomato soup in the pantry."
Dean gave him a look like he was crazy, but obeyed. Jim noted his worried glances at Sam, who had just now gotten to his feet.
Jim deliberately straightened one of the chairs, creating a scraping sound. Clattering pans, opening the fridge door . . . he was out of his depth with this, but hopefully was doing the right thing.
When Jim turned around, Sam was a foot from the table.
"Table's right in front of you, Sam," he cautioned.
Sam flushed bright red. "Thanks," he muttered.
"No problem."
Lunch went by without a hitch. Jim asked Sam what happened, and Sam told the story, if a little hesitantly. The rest of the day passed smoothly, Jim and Dean doing some cleaning, Sam listening to one of the sermons Jim had taped.
At dinner, Jim brought up a topic he had been waiting to talk through. "Sam, have you worked with a professional?"
Sam stiffened. "What for?"
"Getting around, using a cane, reading Braille."
Sam ducked his head. "No."
Dean sneered, though not at Jim or Sam. "We haven't stayed in one place long enough, not since . . ."
Jim leaned forward. "I know someone who could help. How about you boys stick around for a month or so?"
Dean's glance darted between Sam and Jim. "Um, Dad . . ."
Jim said coolly, "I think he'll be fine. I'll convince him."
Dean nodded.
"Sam?" Jim asked.
"I guess." Sam took another bite of his cheeseburger, and Jim felt a surge of satisfaction. Maybe he could help these two.
As Sam was taking his shower, Dean approached Jim. "Thank you," he said. "No one's . . . no one's treated him normal. Or even asked him what happened. I think that helped."
Jim nodded. "One of my parishioners contracted glaucoma, last year. It's a difficult process, but I think you two will do fine."
Dean laughed shakily, and Jim noted the weariness dripping off the boy's shoulders. "I wasn't sure, for a bit."
Jim smiled. "You still have Sam. He has you."
Dean straightened a little. "Yeah. And Sam's strong. He can handle it."
Jim frowned. "Make sure you don't need him to be. I know this will be tough on you, but in the past, Sam's mentioned feeling useless, especially on hunts. His blindness will only exaggerate this feeling."
Dean looked troubled. "I didn't know he felt that way."
"Don't worry too much. As I said, you'll be fine. God is watching over the two of you."
He was unsurprised at Dean's sneer. "God? Where was God when Sam was being blinded?"
"He was there, making sure you could save Sam from death," Jim said calmly. "We can't always see what God has planned, Dean."
Dean deflated. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe, not in that."
Jim ignored the feeling of failure that bubbled up and placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I hope you'll find your faith some day, Dean. You can't carry the world by yourself. Let Him take some of the burden."
Dean twitched, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, and Jim took pity on him. "Go on, sounds like Sam's out of the shower."
The subdued, "thanks Jim," was enough for now.
Jim stayed up later, straightening up his house a little more. If the Winchester boys were going to stay, Jim needed to make sure his breakables were put away. Last time, their wrestling had broken a vase.
Of course, they probably wouldn't be roughhousing for quite some time.
"Pastor Jim?"
"Sam." Jim was surprised. "What are you doing up?"
"I wanted to talk with you."
"We could talk tomorrow," Jim suggested. "You look wiped."
An uncharacteristically bitter expression crossed Sam's face. "Well, I wouldn't know."
Jim took his elbow and steered him to the kitchen, plopping him down at the table.
"Hot chocolate?"
Some of Sam's defiance drained away. "Yes please."
"What would you like to talk about?"
Sam's fingers twisted together on the tabletop. "I wanted to ask you about, well, God."
Jim hummed, inviting Sam to continue.
"Is this . . . is this a punishment?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper.
Jim knew there would be reasons he would need to extract, but he immediately told Sam firmly, "no." He poured the hot chocolate and then settled down across from Sam. "Why would you think that?"
Sam was quiet for a moment. "I deserve it," he murmured. "I've always been unhappy, and complaining about hunting, and it feels like God's punishing me."
For a moment, Jim allowed himself an un-Christian surge of anger against one John Winchester. The way these boys were raised . . . well, Jim had already gone through several fierce arguments with the man, but had never gained an inch.
"Sam, God's not punishing you. Just because you don't like hunting doesn't mean that you are being punished. Your blindness isn't a curse. God knows how strong you are, and he is testing your limits. Trust in Him, and the burden will feel lighter."
Jim let Sam digest that, testing the temperature of the hot chocolate before pushing it into Sam's hands.
They drank their hot cocoa in silence, and then Sam extended his hands.
"Pray for me?" he asked.
"Of course," Jim said, pressing back the emotion that threatened to clog his throat. He thought to himself silently, that if half the world were as strong as Sam Winchester, then, well, they would be a lot closer to God's kingdom. But for now, all he had was a very lost couple of boys. And Jim would do what he could to help.
A/N: This technically sets up the scene for a professional to come in and help Sam, but honestly I don't have time to do the research or get things right. So I'm going to set aside this segment of the Unseen 'verse and focus on different parts. Rewatch some more of S2, get those episodes handled (dude the angst after Sam learns about John's instructions to Dean, I cannot wait), maybe mess around with some S3 concepts.
Okay, on that topic, I could use some help you guys. Assuming Dean makes the deal, can you guys give me a way for Sam to get Dean out of the deal (aside from easy excuses like some random ritual or something) so that he doesn't go to hell? Because the 'verse really wouldn't work if Dean did. So . . . idk. Any good ideas?
Much love. Thanks to all of you who stick with me and like this 'verse. You guys keep me writing 3