Keep The Empty From His Eyes 2/6

[lennelle]

Summary: John gets what he wished for, Sam pays the price.

Previous chapter



There was a moment of breathlessness between the three of them, their minds still trying to catch up with them as they stood in cold, dimming cabin.

Dean turned quickly to Sam who was wiping frantically at his face, but his hands came away clean, as was his face, there was no sign of the shiny black powder.

"What did she do?" Sam panted, looking more than a little freaked, he was flitting his wide-eyed gaze between his brother and father.

"How do you feel?" John asked, stepping forward to inspect Sam, hands moving gently over his face.

"Freaked out," Sam said, voice raising an octave, "That can't have been good… I'm not going blind am I?"

"You can see, can't you?" Dean pointed out. Sam waved his hand in front of his face as if to prove it, shoulders dropping with relief when he realised he could still see.

"You're okay," John assured Sam, but he shared a look with Dean that said he thought otherwise, "Let's go back to the motel and give you a proper look over."

Sam nodded, a little shakily, and allowed his father to guide him towards the door by his arm. His eyes were still wide and frightened, he had his arms wrapped around himself, his fingers digging into his skin. John gazed at Sam, looking worried.

"Sam," he said, squeezing his son gently, "Calm down."

Sam froze where he stood, when John and Dean turned to him he was gazing into the distance, eyes vacant. He started swaying a little, ankles going weak as he lost balance. Suddenly, Sam went limp, falling into John's arms, head lolling back, mouth gaping as his eyes rolled up.

"Sammy!" Dean cried, rushing forward to help John lower Sam safely to the ground, "Come on, kid, open your eyes."

Sam didn't so much as twitch. John patted at Sam's cheek until the skin turned pink, Sam didn't wake up, just stayed deeply unconscious. Dean pried open his brother's lids, Sam's eyes were rolled up. He tried pinching Sam's skin but Sam didn't even make a sound.

"God damn it!" Dean shouted angrily, slapping the floor hard in frustration.

Sam was completely motionless, only the soft movement of his breaths were any sign of life. He was pale; his face was lax and young.

"Shit!" John hissed, "Fuck!"

"What do we do?" Dean tried not to let his voice tremble, his fingers brushed lightly over Sam's cheek where the redness was fading.

John straightened out with a sharp breath, "Do you see the jar of powder she got him with?" he asked, sounding like he was trying to keep his voice calm.

Dean scanned the surroundings frantically, "I think she took it," he said breathlessly, he scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the shelves, checking each jar, "No, it's not here."

"We can't stay here," John decided, "We need to get him back to the motel room. We'll call Bobby, he might know what that powder was."

"Dad, last time you and Bobby spoke it didn't end well."

"Well, this is Sam we're talking about," John argued.

Dean nodded, then gulped, "Dad, what if it's poison or…"

"Don't think that," John snapped, "We need to get him somewhere safe."

He bent down and slid his arms under Sam's back and knees, pulling him into his arms. Sam was a skinny kid, but with the extra inches he had on them he was definitely too heavy to carry, had been since he was fifteen, but John took his son's weight like it was nothing.

Dean collected their guns and led the way out of the cabin. The two of them walked side by side through the forest, Sam's head bounced with each heavy step, his arm swung limply by his side.

"What wish does she think she's granting you?" Dean asked, "She said she'd make him do as he's told."

"I don't know, Dean," John insisted, then he gazed down at Sam's slack face, "Him being like this doesn't add up."

They lay Sam in the back seat of the Impala, his body rocked over the bumpy roads throughout the whole drive back to the motel and he still didn't wake up. At the motel they hurried inside, making sure the coast was clear, the last thing they needed was some passer-by freaking out about the comatose teenager being manhandled into a motel room. Inside, they lay him on the nearest of the two beds.

Sam was in the same condition; completely out cold. Dean tried yelling, slapping Sam's cheek, shaking him, to no avail. John tried using smelling salts, which only proved how powerful the spell was when Sam's nose barely even twitched. The two of them sat back, feeling defeated and worried.

"Sammy, wake up," John said tiredly. Sam's eyes opened immediately.

"Sam," Dean breathed with relief as he jumped to his feet and moved over to lean over his brother, "Thank God. Where did you go, huh?"

Sam didn't say a word, didn't even acknowledge Dean had spoken, he just stared at the ceiling. Dean frowned and slipped his fingers through Sam's hair, using the other hand to cup his face and tilt it towards him. Sam looked right through him.

"Sam?" Dean said fearfully, and then looked to John, "Dad, what's wrong with him?"

"I don't know, son," John replied, frowning. He bent closer to his youngest, laying a hand on his chest, "Sam look at me."

Sam did, his eyes flicked over to John's face and stayed there. John's eyes widened and he shared a glance with Dean, both of them having the same thought. The two of them stood back, the whole time Sam's gaze followed his father

"Sam," John said hesitantly, "Sit up."

Sam did, staring at his dad, occasionally blinking lazily.

"Pat your head," John ordered

Sam reached up and patted his head, moving mechanically.

"Rub your stomach."

Sam did, sitting on the bed, staring at John expressionlessly as he patted his head and rubbed his stomach.

"Holy shit," Dean breathed, eyeing his brother with a mix of fear and curiosity, "Do you think he'll just keep doing it?"

"Sam, stop," John ordered. Sam dropped his arms back to his sides and averted his gaze to the wall directly opposite. The two of them moved into Sam's line of sight, but the kid wasn't looking at them, he wasn't looking at anything really, just gazing straight ahead. His eyes were empty, completely dead, his face was emotionless and relaxed.

"Sam, stand up," Dean ordered. His little brother didn't respond. Dean bent down and took Sam's face in his hands, tilting it from side to side, Sam just let him. John was staring at his youngest curiously, then he put a hand on Dean's shoulder and pulled him away.

"Wait a second," he said, Dean frowned at him, "I think I get it, Dean. Look."

Dean looked at Sam, who was still staring lifelessly into the distance.

"Sam," John called, "Stand up."

Sam stood up.

"Touch your toes."

Sam did.

"Stand back up straight," John finally ordered, Sam did as he was told.

"He only does what you tell him," Dean realised, turning to his father with an accusing glare, "Because you wished he'd do as he's told, but now that's all he can do; breathe, blink and do what you tell him."

"Well, I could just tell him to stop," John suggested, turning to Sam, "Sam, go back to normal."

Nothing.

"Break the spell, Sam."

Nothing, just staring and blinking and breathing.

"Talk to me, Sammy," John pleaded.

"What do you want me to talk about?" Sam asked, sounding flat. John and Dean almost jumped, neither had expected Sam to speak, but to hear his voice so unlike Sam's wasn't a pleasant experience.

"Are you awake in there?" John asked fearfully, "Are you trapped?"

"I am currently not in a state of sleep," Sam replied dutifully, "I am not trapped; there is an adequate amount of space in the motel room."

"So, he takes things very literally," Dean noted, "We should be careful about that."

Morbid thoughts popped into Dean's head and he shuddered. He turned to his father.

"If the witch can cast the spell then she can sure as hell lift it," John growled.

"You can't go back now, it's getting dark," Dean reasoned, "You won't be able to find your way around with no light and she'd have the advantage, if something happens to you Sam would be left like this forever."

John nodded, "Then we go back in the morning," he looked at Sam and sighed, "We'll just have to watch out for you until then."

There was a quiet moment, Dean and John gazing worriedly at the youngest while Sam blinked into the distance.

"You wanna order food?" Dean suggested, trying to fill the uneasy silence, "I think getting him to a diner would be hard when he's like this."

John looked at Sam for a moment longer then told him to sit, and he dropped back onto the end of the bed.

"I'll go to the desk to ask about takeout menus," John said, already heading for the door, he stopped and turned to Dean, "Watch your brother."

The door fell shut behind John and Dean scoffed, "I always do, right, Sammy?" he asked his brother, smirking. His grin instantly fell at Sam's empty silence.

The lack of life in his little brother was freaking Dean the hell out, and he began pacing the room. He suddenly jumped at Sam with a yell, Sam didn't even flinch. He even attempted to make Sam laugh, telling him about the time he wore pink panties for a girl and liked it.

"Come on, Sam," Dean moaned, "I never told you that. You'd be dying to use that against me."

Nothing.

Dean sighed, "You leave me no choice," he warned and lunged forward, tickling Sam all over. Sam's body tightened up but he didn't laugh or cry for Dean to get off. Dean let him go and sat back.

"Seems like you can still feel, just you can't really react," Dean said sadly, "If you're awake in there I want you to know that I'm gonna fix this. I swear, Sammy."

Sam didn't even look at him. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face wearily, "Let's try one final time, ready?"

Nothing. He hadn't really expected an answer anyway.

"If Sam Winchester wasn't a virgin he'd cry his way through sex," Dean taunted, he raised a hopeful eyebrow but sighed when Sam didn't even acknowledge him, "Come on, Sammy, snap out of it. Are you really going to let Dad boss you around?"

Apparently he was. Dean just talked to Sam, not teasing anymore, just reminding him of good times they had together like 4th July 1996. He thought that if Sam was trapped inside himself than he would want to hear something nice to keep his mind off of it. Dean was interrupted when John returned with a handful of takeout menus.

"Any change?" he asked, setting the menus down on the table.

"He tensed a tiny bit when I tickled him, but nothing else," Dean shook his head, "He won't acknowledge that I'm here."

"It's the spell, Dean, he can't," John said sympathetically, he bent down in front of his youngest, "Sam, do as Dean says."

There was no reaction.

"Did it work?" Dean asked hopefully, looking at Sam, "Sammy, put your left hand in."

Sam didn't do anything. John turned to Dean with a smirk, "We're you going to make him do the Hokey Cokey?"

Dean shrugged, "It was the first thing that came to mind… doesn't matter anyway, he didn't do it. Looks like you've got full responsibility of Sam, Dad."

John gulped, realising that this was the first time. John was the only parent Sam had had or known, sure, but Dean had been the one to raise him while John had hunted, he'd been the one to steal food for Sam when he was hungry. He was the one who'd tried to give Sam a Christmas when John hadn't shown up like he'd promised he would. The realisation was a smack in the face for John and he looked to Dean, noticing how bitter he'd sounded when he'd spoken.

"Has he been to the bathroom?" Dean asked, "I bet he'd not do it on his own even if he needed to."

"Oh, uh, right," John hadn't thought of that and he got to his feet, "Sam, go to the bathroom."

Sam stood up and walked to the bathroom, he stopped inside, just standing in the centre of the room when he got there, waiting for the next command.

John sighed, "Sam, if you need to, use the toilet," he commanded, "And flush and clean yourself up after," he added quickly.

Sam went over to the toilet and unzipped his jeans, Dean quickly shut the door.

They waited for the sound of flushing, then the tap running as Sam washed his hands. Then nothing, Sam didn't make an appearance. They opened the door, Sam was standing in the middle of the room again. Staring aimlessly at the grubby tiles.

"Sam, come back in here and sit down at the table," John ordered, sounding weary. Sam took the nearest seat, John and Dean sat on either side of him, watching closely in case they might have missed something. When they got nothing, they turned back to face each other with twin expressions of hopelessness.

"What does everyone want to eat?" John asked. Both of them looked at Sam again, who continued to stare straight ahead.

"Just get him salad or something," Dean suggested, "I want pizza though, with pepperoni, onions, chillies, peppers and extra cheese."

"Right," John nodded, grimacing at Dean's order. He handed the motel phone to his son, "You order, I'm going to give Bobby a call, if anyone knows how to fix this it's him."

He got to his feet and pulled out his cell.

Dean leaned forward and looked at his little brother, listening to John explaining the situation to Bobby over the phone. Dean reached up and poked Sam's cheek, which got no reaction, he went on the flicking his ear, which got no reaction.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean whispered, "Come back, I'm starting to miss you, things are getting boring without you."

Sam didn't even seem to hear him. Dean sighed and dialled the number for the pizza takeout, getting a chicken salad for Sam.

John came back to the table just as Dean hung up, flipping his cell phone shut.

"Bobby's looking into it, says there's a number of things it could be," he informed Dean, rubbing a calloused hand over his face, "He says I'm an idjit for letting it happen, and that we have to keep a close eye on him because even when a spell seems bad it's probably even worse."

"Do you reckon he could do anything, just because you tell him to?" Dean asked, looking at Sam, "Like I'm sure Sam can't draw, but if you told him to…"

"We're not going to find out, your brother isn't a performing monkey," John scolded.

Dean scowled, "I never said he was… but maybe we should see just how far this goes."

John frowned, considering it, then he reluctantly nodded. He grabbed the motel notepad and pen and set it down in front of Sam. John took his seat again.

"Sam," John said, "I want you to draw Dean, in perfect detail, I want you to do it in ten minutes."

Dean glared and John shrugged, "Do you want to pose for a portrait for hours?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to Sam who had already put pen to paper and was sketching away.

It took fifteen minutes exactly, the whole time Dean didn't move a muscle, when Sam was done he put the pen down and resumed his vacant staring. Dean and John leaned in to get a good glimpse at the picture, both of their mouths dropped. Sam had drawn a perfect picture of Dean, it was harsh and sketchy, but it was beautifully detailed in a way Sam would never have been able to draw. Sam couldn't draw for shit but here he was sketching like DaVinci.

"So, basically, he can do anything," Dean said, feeling a little uncomfortable by the idea, "Dad, you have to be careful what you say, even if it's just a figure of speech."

"Dean," John frowned, "I'm not gonna let anything happen to him."

Dean nodded, not bothering to point out that Sam had had a spell cast on him under John's watch. Under both their watch. Dean tilted his head thoughtfully as he looked at his brother, wondering even more what Sam had been so worked up about lately.

"Maybe this thing could have an upside," he said, "You know how he's been acting weird lately? Maybe now's the right time to ask him about it."

John opened his mouth, then closed it, looking conflicted. "No," he decided, "It's not right when he can't help but tell us."

"You might never find out," Dean pointed out, "It's probably better for him to get it out in the open. Come on, Dad, you know something's up with him."

John sighed, then turned to Sam, "Tell me the truth."

"What do you want me to tell you the truth about?" Sam asked immediately.

"No, this is weird, you're right," Dean changed his mind, "It's not fair on him."

"Never mind, Sam," John dismissed him, Sam went back to staring into space. John's fists tightened, jaw clenching, "This is a fucking mess… I want her dead!" he bellowed in frustration.

Sam got to his feet, grabbing the gun from the duffel which lay at the foot of the bed, and went towards the door. Dean yelled, nearly screamed at his dad to stop him, John grabbed Sam's hand as it went for the door handle and shouted, "Stop, Sam!"

Sam stopped, standing right in front of John, looking blank and lost. John and Dean stared at him, wide-eyed, breathing out heavily.

"God, Dad, be careful what you say in front of him," Dean hissed, "Fuck!"

John nodded, trying not to look at his youngest, "Sam, give me the gun," he ordered, getting to his feet once the weapon was deposited in his hand, and he moved as far from Sam as he could, taking a few breaths, "I'm going to destroy that witch."

"Seems like he takes requests as well as orders," Dean said, "You really need to be careful around him, what if someone had seen him walking around with a gun, or worse, saw him killing the witch?"

"I didn't let it get that far," John argued, "He didn't even open the door."

Dean snorted, "Dad, this is a spell, things are never simple."

Their food arrived, which John had to instruct Sam to eat. Then, he told Sam to brush his teeth, then rinse his mouth, then use the toilet, then change into pyjamas, then get into bed. When Sam lay under the covers and stared at the ceiling he told him to go to sleep, and Sam did.

"I hope he's not awake for any of this," John said quietly to Dean, a habit to not wake Sam even when he knew Sam wouldn't do so without permission, "I hope he doesn't remember when the spell's gone."

*

The next morning they went back to the forest, Sam had been commanded to follow John, which proved more difficult than it sounded because Sam did not pay attention to where he stepped and ended up tripping over roots multiple times, only to clamber back to his feet and follow after John, ignoring the rips on his jeans.

It got to the point where John had to order Sam to sit on a log so they could clean his bloody knees and dab up the dirt from the wounds. When they got back to the trail John made sure to say, "Sam, follow me and watch where you step, make sure you don't fall."

Sam didn't trip once after that.

The clearing where the cabin had been was empty, Dean had half-expected it but it didn't make it any less of a disappointment. Sam couldn't stay this way for much longer, he couldn't live like that.

They scoped the area out, but it was like nothing had ever been there. They were about to go back when they heard someone clear their throat, soft and feminine and smug. John and Dean whirled around; the witch was standing right next to Sam, softly caressing his cheek.

"Get the hell away from him," Dean snarled, gun raised, but he didn't dare shoot for the fear of hitting Sam.

She chuckled, "You should know by now that you don't scare me," she said, and then looked up to Sam's blank face, "Are you enjoying your gift?"

"Fix him," John said through gritted teeth.

The witch raised an eyebrow, "Fix him? But I've already done that. You wished for your rebellious son to do as he was told, to be the perfect soldier, and now he is. Don't you like my gift?"

"Put him back to the way he was!" John growled.

"I don't think I appreciate that tone," she said darkly, then turned to Sam, "Boy, choke yourself."

Sam wrapped his fingers around his throat and squeezed. His face turned red, eyes bulging, mouth gaping, he fell to his knees.

"Sam, stop!" John cried. Dean ran over and skidded to his knees beside his brother, trying to pry Sam's fingers from his throat but they wouldn't budge. Sam didn't even listen to John's command.

The witch laughed, "Sam, stop," she ordered. Sam let go of his throat and fell forward into Dean, gasping for air. Dean gripped his brother's face in his hands, heart dropping when he found that Sam was still very much under the spell.

"You may be able to command him," the witch said, "But I have more power here."

"Please don't kill him," Dean begged, rubbing Sam's back.

The witch smirked, "I won't. In fact, I can't, your boy's marked for someone much more dangerous than me."

"What does that mean?" John demanded.

"It means I can't kill him, but you can if you're not careful… Though, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing."

"Please, break the spell and we won't come after you, we promise," John pleaded.

"I won't be coming back here again anyway," the witch laughed, "But I don't think this is the last we'll see of each other- your boy interests me. And I never thought you'd be one to beg, Winchester."

"You're the only one who can do it," John said.

"Not true," the witch countered, "I can break the spell, of course, but so can you."

"How?"

"All you have to do it appreciate what you have," she said.

"I do, I appreciate him," John insisted.

The witch's red lips curled into a snarl, "Do you?"

He blinked and she was gone.