Fic - Blind Faith
Title - Blind Faith
Summary - After a fall Sam and Dean are faced with a dilemma - how do they get the hell out of Dodge when one can't see and the other can't drive?
Rating - PG13 (warnings for heated language but nothing explicit and a little blood/gore if you're squeamish).
Genre - Gen
Word Count - 4500+
Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while. Also I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.
A/N - Thank you to harrigan for her fabulous betaing skills! Your time and feedback is invaluable. I've tinkered and tweaked this, so any mistakes are all mine.
Blind Faith
“We might have a...small complication,” Dean grunted, boots dragging along the dirt track.
Ahead, Sam could see the Impala waiting patiently only a few feet away, paint glistening in the midday sun. But it had never looked so far away.
“Another one, huh?” Sam said breathlessly, arm slung over Dean's shoulder as he hopped forward a step, glancing down at his swollen and misshaped ankle, his jeans sodden with blood, the memory of white bone flipping his stomach.
Dean shuffled forward, hand gripping a fist full of Sam's shirt. “I er...I can't see too great.”
Sam stopped dead in his tracks, Dean's words turning his blood cold. Sweeping his eyes over his brother, Sam saw the hunch in Dean's back, a tell tale sign of bruising from the fall but it was the blood carving thick streams of crimson down Dean's neck that had Sam concerned. “Can't see too great or not at all?”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Both?”
“Quit being a smart ass,” Sam growled, twisting his torso so that he could wrap his hands around either side of Dean's face, frowning at the vacant look in his brother's sightless eyes. “Just answer the damn question.”
“There's maybe a few outlines, but everything is kinda black,” Dean said, batting Sam's hands away from his face.
Trying to ignore the block of ice that Dean's words had shoved into his gut, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “When did this start?”
Dean grinned sheepishly.
“God, Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head, “it's been like this the whole time and you didn't think it deserved mentioning?”
Dean shrugged. “I figured it would go back to normal.”
“Well, it didn't,” Sam snapped, his eyes drawn to the blood soaking into the collar of Dean's shirt, blackening the blue cotton.
The hunt had been screwed from the start.
Despite Dean's completely believable list of broken Health and Safety Regulations, it had taken two hours to get the building contractor off the site. After three hours of tearing the house apart they'd finally found the thing that was keeping Rose Dunaway's spirit in her house; a locket containing a curl of her hair.
How Dean had found it Sam had no clue, but he'd clung fiercely to the shot gun as Dean pulled up the floor boards in the entrance hall with a crow bar, fingers twisting around the delicate gold chain.
Tossing the locket into a nearby metal bucket, Dean had squeezed in a generous amount of lighter fluid and a handful of salt before dropping in a lit match.
That was when the shit had hit the fan.
A blast of cool air had curled around Sam's spine and even though he'd managed to squeeze off a round of salt, she was much faster and was aiming straight for the cause of her problem; Dean.
One minute his brother was rummaging through the duffle, the next he was airborne, his back smacking into Sam's chest as they'd both sailed backwards, crashing through the front door. In a tangled web of arms and legs they'd tumbled down the stairs, the final howl of the spirit the last thing Sam had heard as pain flared in his foot and he was dragged into darkness.
Sam had jerked awake at the foot of the stairs, face mashed into the dirt path, his ankle howling in agony, and Dean's head painting blood onto Sam's shirt.
“You knocked your head pretty hard,” Sam said, watching as Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “So it's just temporary. We'll get you checked out but it'll come back. It will.” And in that moment Sam didn't know who he was trying to reassure, his brother or himself.
Dean turned his face away, following the cries of birds and the rustle of the trees swaying in the breeze. “Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Sam replied, wobbling slightly as he swiped his sleeve across the sweat on his brow. “You can't see.”
“Yeah, but I can feel the look. The concern, the pity; it'll give you wrinkles. So quit it!” Dean's arm curled tighter around Sam's waist. “You ready to make a move?”
“Not really,” Sam clenched his jaw as his ankle pulsed in time with the churning contents of his stomach. “You?”
“Not really.”
“I'd say we've got 10 more steps,” Sam said, exhaustion burning through the muscles in his standing leg. “We'll take it nice and slow. The path's pretty even so just shuffle your feet across the dirt.”
Dean grinned. “You make me go all weak in the knees when you take control like that, Sammy.”
“Bite me,” Sam said, hopping forward a step, an explosion of pain igniting in his ankle, spreading through his body like a wild fire.
“You OK?”
Breathing in through his nose, Sam exhaled slowly through his mouth. “Yeah.”
“Use me as a crutch,” Dean said, like Sam was the only one who was going to keel over without his brother's support. “If I can do this blind you can do it on a twisted ankle.”
The realisation hit Sam fast. From the moment Dean had woken up and hurled into the weeds, to when they'd pulled each other up and started the trek to the car, Dean hadn't been able to see.
Sam could remember telling Dean he'd hurt his ankle but he hadn't gone into the gory details because he'd thought it was pretty obvious. Which it was, to anyone who could actually see. “Er...it's a bit more complicated than that.”
“What is?” Dean said, clouds of dirt he couldn't see blossoming from under his boots.
“When I said I hurt my ankle-”
“Yeah.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I did, but-”
“How bad?” Dean interrupted, coming to an abrupt stop.
“It's er, it's pretty bad.”
“Like it's broken in a few places kinda bad or you'll be needing one-legged jeans kinda bad?” Dean asked, his brow knotted in concern.
“Like I can see bone kinda bad.”
“Damn it, Sam,” Dean yelled. “You should have said something.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and huffed. “Right. Because it only took you what? Half an hour to tell me you couldn't see!”
Dean took a deep breath and scrubbed the back of his hand behind his head. “OK, OK, I guess we both need to be a little more descriptive in the injuries department but we've got a bigger problem here.”
Sam frowned. “We do?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, “like how the hell are we supposed to get outta here, when I can't see and you can't drive!”
XoXoX
“No reception,” Sam said, clutching Dean's phone as he slid down his brother's arm onto the back seat of the Impala, swallowing a cry as his ankle nudged against the front bench seat, his vision greying before slowly clearing.
“And yours?” Dean's face was dipped into the car, his sightless gaze darting helplessly around the interior.
Taking a shaky breath, Sam was grateful that Dean couldn't see his hand tremble as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Well a piece of it anyway, followed by two more. “Trashed.”
“Dammit,” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Don't say a word.”
“It's the only way. And you know it.”
“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” Dean snapped.
Sam shook his head. “You need any help getting there?” he asked, because crossing the yard had been hard enough on Dean and Sam had been able to guide him.
Dean grinned. “When I said that I know every inch of my baby, I meant it.”
Sam watched as Dean slammed the rear passenger door closed, his fingers tracing the contours of the Impala. He travelled around the trunk of the car with ease, hands clinging to the tail light as he stumbled, fingers grazing the glass of the passenger door before trailing down to the driver's door handle.
“Every inch,” Dean said, his breath hitching as he lowered himself onto the front seat. “You ready?”
“As I'll ever be,” Sam said, gasping as his ankle spasmed, shaking so hard it looked like it was seizing.
Dean's head whipped around. “You need a minute?”
“No,” Sam said, trying to take control of the pain spearing through his foot and not freak Dean out any more than he already had. “Let's just get this over with.”
“This is kinda crazy, even for us!” Dean's fingers traced the curves of the steering column until they reached the key in the ignition, the engine growling to life.
“Maybe. But it'll work.”
“I swear Sam, if you so much as scratch my baby's paintwork, not only will you be on my shit list for the next twenty years but you're on valet duty for the next hundred.”
Sam scowled. “Dude, you're the one behind the wheel!”
Dean eased his foot down on the gas and they gently crawled forward. “Well, in case you missed the newsflash, I'm driving blind and right now you're the only one keeping us on the road. If this goes south, it's all on you.”
Sam pinched his lips, looking ahead at the dusty track that was riddled with pot holes. They'd barely managed to get down it when Dean could see.
“I'll get us through this,” Sam said, trying to will the blood from draining from his face as his fingers tightened around Dean's phone. “All we need is one bar of reception.”
Dean's grip on the wheel whitened his knuckles. “This plan totally sucks ass.”
Sam huffed, dragging a hand over the sweat that was stinging his eyes. “Just keep a steady and slow speed and drive straight until I tell you.”
From the back seat Sam could see the tension in Dean's shoulders and the tight lines of pain collecting at the corner of his eyes. And despite what he'd said, Dean was right, this plan was jacked. His brother shouldn't have to drive when he couldn't see worth a damn and was clearly in pain.
“Turn a hair to the right,” Sam said, directing Dean around a pot hole the size of a football.
Dean nudged the wheel, the tires barely missing the hole in the road.
Ahead, Sam could see a 50 yard stretch of road that was covered in a series of holes and dips, some too closely positioned for the Impala's tires to miss.
“They're gonna hit fast and closely spaced,” Sam said, eyes focussed on the road. “We can't dodge them all but we're sure gonna try. So just do what I say when I say it. OK?”
Waiting for Dean to flinch or bitch about the blatant order, Sam was surprised when his brother nodded, shoulders squared.
The car edged forward, Sam's eyes pinned to the windshield. “Left,” Sam said as Dean turned the steering wheel. “A little more, a little more. Turn right...now.”
The car jostled as it clipped the corner of a hole, the pain lines on Dean's face now thick grooves.
“Left...now,” Sam said, his hands gripping the bench seat in front of him. “And left again. Hard right...now!”
Dean steered just as the rear wheel hit a deep pothole, Sam's shoulder slamming into the passenger door, his ankle flaring white hot as the car jolted to a stop.
Sam pressed his back into the leather seat, teeth bared in agony as the jagged edges of bone ground against each other, jolts of electric pain ripping through him until he couldn't contain a scream any longer.
“'mmy! Talk to me!”
The words sounded dim, like they was swirling down a drain.
“Sam!”
“I'm OK,” Sam groaned, running his tongue across parched lips, teeth grinding grains of dirt.
“Jesus, Sam!” The ghoulish white of Dean's face came into focus as he hovered over the bench seat. “You don't get to check out on me like that again. OK? ”
Sam tried to haul himself up but the pain hit with the force of a freight train, travelling up his leg and twisting his insides, pulling another cry from his lips.
“Sammy?” Dean yelled, hands blindly reaching forward before finally patting the top of Sam's head, fingers trailing down his face. “You OK?”
Sam took a deep breath. “Peachy. You?”
“I'm not the one who's zoning out when they should be giving directions.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam said, Dean's fingers still digging into his cheeks. “I'm good now, really.”
Clearing his throat, Dean dropped his hands from Sam's face and fell back into the driver's seat.
Sam looked out the windshield. “Well, at least we made it through the worst of it.”
“Reception?” Dean's voice was hoarse like he'd been gargling gravel.
Realising that the phone was no longer clutched in his hands, Sam shuffled forward, shivers sliding across his clammy skin as he bent in half, fingers finally connecting with cold metal and plastic.
In the falling sunlight the phone filled the car with an eerie yellow glow as it flashed no reception. “Nothing yet, but maybe if we make it to the end of the track?”
“How far?” There was a hitch in Dean's controlled exhale, his tone so weary that it made Sam sit up, hands gripping the bench seat as he pulled himself up.
The colour was bleached from Dean's face, fat beads of sweat resting on his top lip as a fresh trail of black blood ran down his neck. “You're bleeding again.”
“I'm fi-”
“Damn it, Dean! Stow the brave little soldier B.S. You need to take a break. Maybe I could-”
“No!” Dean's fingers stubbornly gripped the steering wheel, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he gritted his teeth. “How far away is the end of the track?”
Staring out the rear passenger window, Sam squinted through the shadows at the track that veered sharply to the right, obscuring his view. “We're nearly at the bend, so maybe half a mile.”
The engine fired into life, the deep growl vibrating through the rear seat. “Dean, you need to-”
“No,” Dean barked, “just...just tell me where to go.”
Sam huffed his disapproval, the car rocking back and forth as Dean tried to get out of deep pothole, tires screeching, the smell of burning rubber stinging Sam's nose as they finally escaped.
Guiding his brother around the sharp turn in the track, Sam struggled to shake off the feeling that everything was off kilter, weightless. As if without Dean presence tethering him, he'd slip off the car seat and into nothing.
“Sammy?” Dean's voice was laced with worry.
Sam sucked in a stuttered breath, surprised to see the end of track ahead. “It's only a few feet away.”
Sam struggled to dial 911, his fingers clumsy as he blinked at the fuzzy screen. A ticking sound was coursing through his veins, like the sound of a cooling car engine and he knew he was fading, his focus narrowing onto the phone line that was ringing in his ear.
“911, what's your emergency?”
“Thank God,” Sam croaked, vision blinking in and out of focus like a faulty street-light. “My brother hit his head and he can't see, we-”
That was when he saw Dean's chin sink to his sternum, his hands sliding off the steering wheel, the car veering sharply to the right towards the trees huddled along the verge.
“Dean!” Sam yelled, a sea of green foliage rushing towards them, the crunch of twisted metal deafening him as the lights went out.
XoXoX
Sam pulled out the IV lines one by one, wincing as the long needles slipped out from under bruised skin.
His jeans were stiff and crusty with blood stains and as he wrestled into them he was thankful that the paramedics had slashed them up to his knee, allowing room for the white bulky cast to poke through.
Pulling on his jacket, Sam used the crutches to cross the room, glancing down the empty corridor, ears alert for the squeak of soft soles and the rustle of cotton scrubs.
Looking down at his watch, he saw that he had plenty of time; no one would be passing their rooms for another twenty minutes.
Hobbling forward on his crutches Sam left his room, his home for the last four days, his bag slung over his shoulder.
He didn't have to go far, eight doors. But it was the furthest they'd been separated for a long time and the distance still unnerved him.
The room was dark as Sam pushed the swinging door open, flipping on the light.
“Dean? You awake?” Sam whispered.
“I could hear you and your crutches the moment you left your room,” Dean said, peeling back the covers from his bed. “Stealth, Sammy, you ever heard of it?”
“Was I really that loud?” Sam asked, cramming Dean's wallet and clothes into the bag, making sure he hadn't left anything behind.
A smug smile tugged Dean's lips. “It's like all my other senses are super heightened. I'm totally Daredevil! But in black leather, not red.”
Pulling Dean's leather jacket from the bottom and last drawer, Sam helped to guide Dean's arms through the holes, trying not to stare at the bulky bandages wrapped tightly around Dean's head and over his eyes. “Actually, in the first issue Daredevil's costume was mainly yellow.”
“Such a nerd,” Dean said, shaking his head, the skin under the bandages still a little grey.
“We're not jumping the gun are we?” Sam asked, smoothing out the collar of Dean's jacket, fingers finding comfort in the familiar soft leather.
Slipping off the bed, Dean's hand landed on Sam's arm tracing its way up his shoulder, solid and reassuring. “You're making the right call. Now lead the way.”
After waking up in a hospital, drugged up to the gills with god knows what, Sam had had to drag himself and his heavy cast down the corridor to see Dean because despite his best pitying looks and eloquent arguments they wouldn't let him leave his bed.
As it turned out, Dean was pretty much out of it anyway and didn't know he was there. But Sam knew and that was more than enough.
The doctors were calling Dean's blindness fleeting, something to do with floating blood-clots in the vessels around his eyes. It should repair itself but they weren't sure when or if there would be any lasting damage, something about possible complications from the concussion.
After that Sam had been a studious patient; pushing himself in his physio sessions, taking copious notes from both their medical charts so that he could do some research once they left, checking Dean's charts for his medications and drilling the nurses on their after care.
The rest was pretty much a waiting game. Sam didn't want to leave too early because this was his brother's sight they were talking about so he told Dean to quit bitching and they waited. Only when the nurses started to really push him for more insurance details was his decision made.
There was no way he could physically push Dean in a wheelchair while he was on crutches, not that Dean would let him anyway, so the plan was to leave on foot late at night when the wards were quiet. And so far, things were going smoothly. For once.
Placing the crutches under his armpits, Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother. “You ready?”
“I was born it,” Dean's breath was a warm tickle on his neck.
Placing the crutches in-front of him, Sam swung his casted leg and hopped forward a step, Dean close on his heals as he repeated the motion.
They'd practised, or at least Sam had made Dean do a few dry runs because he didn't want Dean to trip over the crutches and Sam needed to know the timing. And it was worth it as Dean's steps fell into the stilted rhythm of his own, his brother's lips silently counting the steps of the route they'd planned.
When they reached the elevator, Sam darted a nervous glance at his watch. The nurses would be checking his room any minute.
Stabbing the button, Sam chewed his bottom lip, glancing over his shoulder as the doors pinged open. Dean followed him in as he pushed the ground floor button.
“I can't believe your plan worked,” Dean said as the elevator car began to sink.
“Of course it worked,” Sam scoffed, “it was my plan, not yours.”
“Says the guy whose idea it was to let his blind brother drive his beloved car down a pot-hole riddled track!” Dean's eyebrows rose above his bandages, tone more pissed than amused.
“Hey, it worked, didn't it?”
“No, Sam, it really didn't,” Dean barked, arm gesturing at their current situation. “How are we getting outta here, anyway?
“Taxi.”
“And the Impala?”
“Is at the motel.”
Dean's hand curled tightly around Sam's shoulder. “Tell me you didn't let some two-bit mechanic put his dirty hands on her or I'll-”
“Relax, I didn't want anyone else fixing her up either,” Sam interrupted, smiling as Dean's vise-like grip on his shoulder relaxed. “I had a word with the lady who owns the motel and as long as you don't grease up the whole place you can fix the car there.”
“We,” Dean corrected. “We can fix her up.”
Sam guided them to the rear exit which opened up into the parking lot. “You barely let me behind the wheel, let alone under the hood.”
“Yeah well, it's about time you learn,” Dean said, following Sam's lead as they approached a waiting taxi. “And who better to learn from than the best.”
Sam snorted. “Right. The best, I forgot.”
“Ohhh, bitchy,” Dean mocked.
“Taxi for McGillicuddy,” the driver asked through the cracked window.
“Yeah, that's us.” Sam shifted his weight onto his good leg, holding the crutches in one hand as he reached forward to open the door. “Take a step forward then lower your head.”
Dean reached forward, fingers tracing the outline of the door opening before stepping forward and dipping into the car, shuffling over a seat so Sam didn't have to walk around the car.
The journey was quiet and Sam could feel the heavy pull of exhaustion and drugs that were still swirling in his system. All he wanted was to collapse onto a bed and sleep, uninterrupted, for a week.
The car pulled into the motel's parking lot and Sam handed over a wad of folded notes, fumbling with the crutches before reaching for his brother's arm, hand hovering over Dean's head as he ducked out the car.
“She's here right? The Impala?”
Dean's hand fell onto his back, travelling up and onto Sam's shoulder as he guided them towards the door, swiping the key card through the lock. “God, Dean, you're like a dog with a bone."
“How bad it is?”
Sam glanced to the right, grimacing at the twisted hood of the Impala and the shattered glass of the windshield. “It's not that bad.”
“I-,” Dean paused, the alarm on Sam's wrist watch beeping as Sam guided Dean onto the seat at the wobbly dining table. “What the hell is that?”
Sam turned the alarm off, pulling out a brown paper bag filled with medications from the bag he'd dumped onto the chair. Some of the prescriptions were filled legitimately, while others had required more resourceful tactics.
“Med time,” Sam said, hobbling over to the small kitchenette in the corner, half filling a plastic cup with water.
“You set your wrist watch for that? Seriously?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, I did.” Sam measured out Dean's meds before flattening his brother's palm and dropping them into his hand. “We need to follow their rules with this. We're not dealing with a couple of botched stitches and a handful a Tylenol. This is serious.”
“Believe me, I'm well aware of that,” Dean mumbled, tossing the pills onto his tongue, fingers curling around the cup Sam placed into his hand.
Lowering himself back onto the chair, Sam began cataloguing the meds, writing out check lists so he'd didn't accidentally overdose either himself or his brother. He'd barely started when the sound of Dean's fingers plucking at his bandages pulled his attention away.
“I swear, Dean, you're like a little kid,” Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist, removing it from his face.
“I can take it off today, y'know. You're being a control freak.”
“They said to leave it for five days,” Sam said, pen scribbling down the names of each pill bottle again.
Dean grinned. “Which is technically today!”
Sam frowned, glancing down at his watch. 4:37am. “Maybe we should wait a few more hours bef-”
“Just help me get this off,” Dean interrupted, fingers picking at the tattered edges of the bandage.
Reaching forward, Sam helped to unwind the bandages from around Dean's head, revealing two cotton eye pads taped neatly over his brother's eyes. “You sure about this?”
Releasing a deep breath, Dean nodded his head, jaw bunching as he clenched his teeth.
Carefully peeling off the medical tape, Sam removed the eyes pads, holding his breath as Dean's eyelids slowly opened. “Well?”
Dean smirked, eyes bright as he winked. “You need a hair cut, Rapunzel.”
Sam socked his brother in the shoulder, his dimples deep as he smiled. “You're such a jerk.”
Dean held up his hands. “Take a joke, bitch.”
Pulling himself up onto his crutches, Sam slowly made his made his way across the room towards the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at his brother who was grinning from ear to ear, eyes scanning the room like he'd never seen it before.
Closing the door Sam was unable to wipe the relief-fuelled smile from his face. They'd dodged a bullet. Another one. But Dean could see, Sam's ankle would heal and in the meantime maybe a little R&R wouldn't be so bad. Give them some time to just be brother's again.
“Sam!” Dean's gruff voice thundered through the door. “What the hell did you do to my car?”
The End
Summary - After a fall Sam and Dean are faced with a dilemma - how do they get the hell out of Dodge when one can't see and the other can't drive?
Rating - PG13 (warnings for heated language but nothing explicit and a little blood/gore if you're squeamish).
Genre - Gen
Word Count - 4500+
Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while. Also I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.
A/N - Thank you to harrigan for her fabulous betaing skills! Your time and feedback is invaluable. I've tinkered and tweaked this, so any mistakes are all mine.
Blind Faith
“We might have a...small complication,” Dean grunted, boots dragging along the dirt track.
Ahead, Sam could see the Impala waiting patiently only a few feet away, paint glistening in the midday sun. But it had never looked so far away.
“Another one, huh?” Sam said breathlessly, arm slung over Dean's shoulder as he hopped forward a step, glancing down at his swollen and misshaped ankle, his jeans sodden with blood, the memory of white bone flipping his stomach.
Dean shuffled forward, hand gripping a fist full of Sam's shirt. “I er...I can't see too great.”
Sam stopped dead in his tracks, Dean's words turning his blood cold. Sweeping his eyes over his brother, Sam saw the hunch in Dean's back, a tell tale sign of bruising from the fall but it was the blood carving thick streams of crimson down Dean's neck that had Sam concerned. “Can't see too great or not at all?”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Both?”
“Quit being a smart ass,” Sam growled, twisting his torso so that he could wrap his hands around either side of Dean's face, frowning at the vacant look in his brother's sightless eyes. “Just answer the damn question.”
“There's maybe a few outlines, but everything is kinda black,” Dean said, batting Sam's hands away from his face.
Trying to ignore the block of ice that Dean's words had shoved into his gut, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “When did this start?”
Dean grinned sheepishly.
“God, Dean,” Sam said, shaking his head, “it's been like this the whole time and you didn't think it deserved mentioning?”
Dean shrugged. “I figured it would go back to normal.”
“Well, it didn't,” Sam snapped, his eyes drawn to the blood soaking into the collar of Dean's shirt, blackening the blue cotton.
The hunt had been screwed from the start.
Despite Dean's completely believable list of broken Health and Safety Regulations, it had taken two hours to get the building contractor off the site. After three hours of tearing the house apart they'd finally found the thing that was keeping Rose Dunaway's spirit in her house; a locket containing a curl of her hair.
How Dean had found it Sam had no clue, but he'd clung fiercely to the shot gun as Dean pulled up the floor boards in the entrance hall with a crow bar, fingers twisting around the delicate gold chain.
Tossing the locket into a nearby metal bucket, Dean had squeezed in a generous amount of lighter fluid and a handful of salt before dropping in a lit match.
That was when the shit had hit the fan.
A blast of cool air had curled around Sam's spine and even though he'd managed to squeeze off a round of salt, she was much faster and was aiming straight for the cause of her problem; Dean.
One minute his brother was rummaging through the duffle, the next he was airborne, his back smacking into Sam's chest as they'd both sailed backwards, crashing through the front door. In a tangled web of arms and legs they'd tumbled down the stairs, the final howl of the spirit the last thing Sam had heard as pain flared in his foot and he was dragged into darkness.
Sam had jerked awake at the foot of the stairs, face mashed into the dirt path, his ankle howling in agony, and Dean's head painting blood onto Sam's shirt.
“You knocked your head pretty hard,” Sam said, watching as Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “So it's just temporary. We'll get you checked out but it'll come back. It will.” And in that moment Sam didn't know who he was trying to reassure, his brother or himself.
Dean turned his face away, following the cries of birds and the rustle of the trees swaying in the breeze. “Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Sam replied, wobbling slightly as he swiped his sleeve across the sweat on his brow. “You can't see.”
“Yeah, but I can feel the look. The concern, the pity; it'll give you wrinkles. So quit it!” Dean's arm curled tighter around Sam's waist. “You ready to make a move?”
“Not really,” Sam clenched his jaw as his ankle pulsed in time with the churning contents of his stomach. “You?”
“Not really.”
“I'd say we've got 10 more steps,” Sam said, exhaustion burning through the muscles in his standing leg. “We'll take it nice and slow. The path's pretty even so just shuffle your feet across the dirt.”
Dean grinned. “You make me go all weak in the knees when you take control like that, Sammy.”
“Bite me,” Sam said, hopping forward a step, an explosion of pain igniting in his ankle, spreading through his body like a wild fire.
“You OK?”
Breathing in through his nose, Sam exhaled slowly through his mouth. “Yeah.”
“Use me as a crutch,” Dean said, like Sam was the only one who was going to keel over without his brother's support. “If I can do this blind you can do it on a twisted ankle.”
The realisation hit Sam fast. From the moment Dean had woken up and hurled into the weeds, to when they'd pulled each other up and started the trek to the car, Dean hadn't been able to see.
Sam could remember telling Dean he'd hurt his ankle but he hadn't gone into the gory details because he'd thought it was pretty obvious. Which it was, to anyone who could actually see. “Er...it's a bit more complicated than that.”
“What is?” Dean said, clouds of dirt he couldn't see blossoming from under his boots.
“When I said I hurt my ankle-”
“Yeah.”
Sam cleared his throat. “Well, I did, but-”
“How bad?” Dean interrupted, coming to an abrupt stop.
“It's er, it's pretty bad.”
“Like it's broken in a few places kinda bad or you'll be needing one-legged jeans kinda bad?” Dean asked, his brow knotted in concern.
“Like I can see bone kinda bad.”
“Damn it, Sam,” Dean yelled. “You should have said something.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and huffed. “Right. Because it only took you what? Half an hour to tell me you couldn't see!”
Dean took a deep breath and scrubbed the back of his hand behind his head. “OK, OK, I guess we both need to be a little more descriptive in the injuries department but we've got a bigger problem here.”
Sam frowned. “We do?”
“Yeah,” Dean said, “like how the hell are we supposed to get outta here, when I can't see and you can't drive!”
XoXoX
“No reception,” Sam said, clutching Dean's phone as he slid down his brother's arm onto the back seat of the Impala, swallowing a cry as his ankle nudged against the front bench seat, his vision greying before slowly clearing.
“And yours?” Dean's face was dipped into the car, his sightless gaze darting helplessly around the interior.
Taking a shaky breath, Sam was grateful that Dean couldn't see his hand tremble as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Well a piece of it anyway, followed by two more. “Trashed.”
“Dammit,” Dean muttered, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Don't say a word.”
“It's the only way. And you know it.”
“Doesn't mean I have to like it,” Dean snapped.
Sam shook his head. “You need any help getting there?” he asked, because crossing the yard had been hard enough on Dean and Sam had been able to guide him.
Dean grinned. “When I said that I know every inch of my baby, I meant it.”
Sam watched as Dean slammed the rear passenger door closed, his fingers tracing the contours of the Impala. He travelled around the trunk of the car with ease, hands clinging to the tail light as he stumbled, fingers grazing the glass of the passenger door before trailing down to the driver's door handle.
“Every inch,” Dean said, his breath hitching as he lowered himself onto the front seat. “You ready?”
“As I'll ever be,” Sam said, gasping as his ankle spasmed, shaking so hard it looked like it was seizing.
Dean's head whipped around. “You need a minute?”
“No,” Sam said, trying to take control of the pain spearing through his foot and not freak Dean out any more than he already had. “Let's just get this over with.”
“This is kinda crazy, even for us!” Dean's fingers traced the curves of the steering column until they reached the key in the ignition, the engine growling to life.
“Maybe. But it'll work.”
“I swear Sam, if you so much as scratch my baby's paintwork, not only will you be on my shit list for the next twenty years but you're on valet duty for the next hundred.”
Sam scowled. “Dude, you're the one behind the wheel!”
Dean eased his foot down on the gas and they gently crawled forward. “Well, in case you missed the newsflash, I'm driving blind and right now you're the only one keeping us on the road. If this goes south, it's all on you.”
Sam pinched his lips, looking ahead at the dusty track that was riddled with pot holes. They'd barely managed to get down it when Dean could see.
“I'll get us through this,” Sam said, trying to will the blood from draining from his face as his fingers tightened around Dean's phone. “All we need is one bar of reception.”
Dean's grip on the wheel whitened his knuckles. “This plan totally sucks ass.”
Sam huffed, dragging a hand over the sweat that was stinging his eyes. “Just keep a steady and slow speed and drive straight until I tell you.”
From the back seat Sam could see the tension in Dean's shoulders and the tight lines of pain collecting at the corner of his eyes. And despite what he'd said, Dean was right, this plan was jacked. His brother shouldn't have to drive when he couldn't see worth a damn and was clearly in pain.
“Turn a hair to the right,” Sam said, directing Dean around a pot hole the size of a football.
Dean nudged the wheel, the tires barely missing the hole in the road.
Ahead, Sam could see a 50 yard stretch of road that was covered in a series of holes and dips, some too closely positioned for the Impala's tires to miss.
“They're gonna hit fast and closely spaced,” Sam said, eyes focussed on the road. “We can't dodge them all but we're sure gonna try. So just do what I say when I say it. OK?”
Waiting for Dean to flinch or bitch about the blatant order, Sam was surprised when his brother nodded, shoulders squared.
The car edged forward, Sam's eyes pinned to the windshield. “Left,” Sam said as Dean turned the steering wheel. “A little more, a little more. Turn right...now.”
The car jostled as it clipped the corner of a hole, the pain lines on Dean's face now thick grooves.
“Left...now,” Sam said, his hands gripping the bench seat in front of him. “And left again. Hard right...now!”
Dean steered just as the rear wheel hit a deep pothole, Sam's shoulder slamming into the passenger door, his ankle flaring white hot as the car jolted to a stop.
Sam pressed his back into the leather seat, teeth bared in agony as the jagged edges of bone ground against each other, jolts of electric pain ripping through him until he couldn't contain a scream any longer.
“'mmy! Talk to me!”
The words sounded dim, like they was swirling down a drain.
“Sam!”
“I'm OK,” Sam groaned, running his tongue across parched lips, teeth grinding grains of dirt.
“Jesus, Sam!” The ghoulish white of Dean's face came into focus as he hovered over the bench seat. “You don't get to check out on me like that again. OK? ”
Sam tried to haul himself up but the pain hit with the force of a freight train, travelling up his leg and twisting his insides, pulling another cry from his lips.
“Sammy?” Dean yelled, hands blindly reaching forward before finally patting the top of Sam's head, fingers trailing down his face. “You OK?”
Sam took a deep breath. “Peachy. You?”
“I'm not the one who's zoning out when they should be giving directions.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam said, Dean's fingers still digging into his cheeks. “I'm good now, really.”
Clearing his throat, Dean dropped his hands from Sam's face and fell back into the driver's seat.
Sam looked out the windshield. “Well, at least we made it through the worst of it.”
“Reception?” Dean's voice was hoarse like he'd been gargling gravel.
Realising that the phone was no longer clutched in his hands, Sam shuffled forward, shivers sliding across his clammy skin as he bent in half, fingers finally connecting with cold metal and plastic.
In the falling sunlight the phone filled the car with an eerie yellow glow as it flashed no reception. “Nothing yet, but maybe if we make it to the end of the track?”
“How far?” There was a hitch in Dean's controlled exhale, his tone so weary that it made Sam sit up, hands gripping the bench seat as he pulled himself up.
The colour was bleached from Dean's face, fat beads of sweat resting on his top lip as a fresh trail of black blood ran down his neck. “You're bleeding again.”
“I'm fi-”
“Damn it, Dean! Stow the brave little soldier B.S. You need to take a break. Maybe I could-”
“No!” Dean's fingers stubbornly gripped the steering wheel, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he gritted his teeth. “How far away is the end of the track?”
Staring out the rear passenger window, Sam squinted through the shadows at the track that veered sharply to the right, obscuring his view. “We're nearly at the bend, so maybe half a mile.”
The engine fired into life, the deep growl vibrating through the rear seat. “Dean, you need to-”
“No,” Dean barked, “just...just tell me where to go.”
Sam huffed his disapproval, the car rocking back and forth as Dean tried to get out of deep pothole, tires screeching, the smell of burning rubber stinging Sam's nose as they finally escaped.
Guiding his brother around the sharp turn in the track, Sam struggled to shake off the feeling that everything was off kilter, weightless. As if without Dean presence tethering him, he'd slip off the car seat and into nothing.
“Sammy?” Dean's voice was laced with worry.
Sam sucked in a stuttered breath, surprised to see the end of track ahead. “It's only a few feet away.”
Sam struggled to dial 911, his fingers clumsy as he blinked at the fuzzy screen. A ticking sound was coursing through his veins, like the sound of a cooling car engine and he knew he was fading, his focus narrowing onto the phone line that was ringing in his ear.
“911, what's your emergency?”
“Thank God,” Sam croaked, vision blinking in and out of focus like a faulty street-light. “My brother hit his head and he can't see, we-”
That was when he saw Dean's chin sink to his sternum, his hands sliding off the steering wheel, the car veering sharply to the right towards the trees huddled along the verge.
“Dean!” Sam yelled, a sea of green foliage rushing towards them, the crunch of twisted metal deafening him as the lights went out.
XoXoX
Sam pulled out the IV lines one by one, wincing as the long needles slipped out from under bruised skin.
His jeans were stiff and crusty with blood stains and as he wrestled into them he was thankful that the paramedics had slashed them up to his knee, allowing room for the white bulky cast to poke through.
Pulling on his jacket, Sam used the crutches to cross the room, glancing down the empty corridor, ears alert for the squeak of soft soles and the rustle of cotton scrubs.
Looking down at his watch, he saw that he had plenty of time; no one would be passing their rooms for another twenty minutes.
Hobbling forward on his crutches Sam left his room, his home for the last four days, his bag slung over his shoulder.
He didn't have to go far, eight doors. But it was the furthest they'd been separated for a long time and the distance still unnerved him.
The room was dark as Sam pushed the swinging door open, flipping on the light.
“Dean? You awake?” Sam whispered.
“I could hear you and your crutches the moment you left your room,” Dean said, peeling back the covers from his bed. “Stealth, Sammy, you ever heard of it?”
“Was I really that loud?” Sam asked, cramming Dean's wallet and clothes into the bag, making sure he hadn't left anything behind.
A smug smile tugged Dean's lips. “It's like all my other senses are super heightened. I'm totally Daredevil! But in black leather, not red.”
Pulling Dean's leather jacket from the bottom and last drawer, Sam helped to guide Dean's arms through the holes, trying not to stare at the bulky bandages wrapped tightly around Dean's head and over his eyes. “Actually, in the first issue Daredevil's costume was mainly yellow.”
“Such a nerd,” Dean said, shaking his head, the skin under the bandages still a little grey.
“We're not jumping the gun are we?” Sam asked, smoothing out the collar of Dean's jacket, fingers finding comfort in the familiar soft leather.
Slipping off the bed, Dean's hand landed on Sam's arm tracing its way up his shoulder, solid and reassuring. “You're making the right call. Now lead the way.”
After waking up in a hospital, drugged up to the gills with god knows what, Sam had had to drag himself and his heavy cast down the corridor to see Dean because despite his best pitying looks and eloquent arguments they wouldn't let him leave his bed.
As it turned out, Dean was pretty much out of it anyway and didn't know he was there. But Sam knew and that was more than enough.
The doctors were calling Dean's blindness fleeting, something to do with floating blood-clots in the vessels around his eyes. It should repair itself but they weren't sure when or if there would be any lasting damage, something about possible complications from the concussion.
After that Sam had been a studious patient; pushing himself in his physio sessions, taking copious notes from both their medical charts so that he could do some research once they left, checking Dean's charts for his medications and drilling the nurses on their after care.
The rest was pretty much a waiting game. Sam didn't want to leave too early because this was his brother's sight they were talking about so he told Dean to quit bitching and they waited. Only when the nurses started to really push him for more insurance details was his decision made.
There was no way he could physically push Dean in a wheelchair while he was on crutches, not that Dean would let him anyway, so the plan was to leave on foot late at night when the wards were quiet. And so far, things were going smoothly. For once.
Placing the crutches under his armpits, Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother. “You ready?”
“I was born it,” Dean's breath was a warm tickle on his neck.
Placing the crutches in-front of him, Sam swung his casted leg and hopped forward a step, Dean close on his heals as he repeated the motion.
They'd practised, or at least Sam had made Dean do a few dry runs because he didn't want Dean to trip over the crutches and Sam needed to know the timing. And it was worth it as Dean's steps fell into the stilted rhythm of his own, his brother's lips silently counting the steps of the route they'd planned.
When they reached the elevator, Sam darted a nervous glance at his watch. The nurses would be checking his room any minute.
Stabbing the button, Sam chewed his bottom lip, glancing over his shoulder as the doors pinged open. Dean followed him in as he pushed the ground floor button.
“I can't believe your plan worked,” Dean said as the elevator car began to sink.
“Of course it worked,” Sam scoffed, “it was my plan, not yours.”
“Says the guy whose idea it was to let his blind brother drive his beloved car down a pot-hole riddled track!” Dean's eyebrows rose above his bandages, tone more pissed than amused.
“Hey, it worked, didn't it?”
“No, Sam, it really didn't,” Dean barked, arm gesturing at their current situation. “How are we getting outta here, anyway?
“Taxi.”
“And the Impala?”
“Is at the motel.”
Dean's hand curled tightly around Sam's shoulder. “Tell me you didn't let some two-bit mechanic put his dirty hands on her or I'll-”
“Relax, I didn't want anyone else fixing her up either,” Sam interrupted, smiling as Dean's vise-like grip on his shoulder relaxed. “I had a word with the lady who owns the motel and as long as you don't grease up the whole place you can fix the car there.”
“We,” Dean corrected. “We can fix her up.”
Sam guided them to the rear exit which opened up into the parking lot. “You barely let me behind the wheel, let alone under the hood.”
“Yeah well, it's about time you learn,” Dean said, following Sam's lead as they approached a waiting taxi. “And who better to learn from than the best.”
Sam snorted. “Right. The best, I forgot.”
“Ohhh, bitchy,” Dean mocked.
“Taxi for McGillicuddy,” the driver asked through the cracked window.
“Yeah, that's us.” Sam shifted his weight onto his good leg, holding the crutches in one hand as he reached forward to open the door. “Take a step forward then lower your head.”
Dean reached forward, fingers tracing the outline of the door opening before stepping forward and dipping into the car, shuffling over a seat so Sam didn't have to walk around the car.
The journey was quiet and Sam could feel the heavy pull of exhaustion and drugs that were still swirling in his system. All he wanted was to collapse onto a bed and sleep, uninterrupted, for a week.
The car pulled into the motel's parking lot and Sam handed over a wad of folded notes, fumbling with the crutches before reaching for his brother's arm, hand hovering over Dean's head as he ducked out the car.
“She's here right? The Impala?”
Dean's hand fell onto his back, travelling up and onto Sam's shoulder as he guided them towards the door, swiping the key card through the lock. “God, Dean, you're like a dog with a bone."
“How bad it is?”
Sam glanced to the right, grimacing at the twisted hood of the Impala and the shattered glass of the windshield. “It's not that bad.”
“I-,” Dean paused, the alarm on Sam's wrist watch beeping as Sam guided Dean onto the seat at the wobbly dining table. “What the hell is that?”
Sam turned the alarm off, pulling out a brown paper bag filled with medications from the bag he'd dumped onto the chair. Some of the prescriptions were filled legitimately, while others had required more resourceful tactics.
“Med time,” Sam said, hobbling over to the small kitchenette in the corner, half filling a plastic cup with water.
“You set your wrist watch for that? Seriously?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, I did.” Sam measured out Dean's meds before flattening his brother's palm and dropping them into his hand. “We need to follow their rules with this. We're not dealing with a couple of botched stitches and a handful a Tylenol. This is serious.”
“Believe me, I'm well aware of that,” Dean mumbled, tossing the pills onto his tongue, fingers curling around the cup Sam placed into his hand.
Lowering himself back onto the chair, Sam began cataloguing the meds, writing out check lists so he'd didn't accidentally overdose either himself or his brother. He'd barely started when the sound of Dean's fingers plucking at his bandages pulled his attention away.
“I swear, Dean, you're like a little kid,” Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's wrist, removing it from his face.
“I can take it off today, y'know. You're being a control freak.”
“They said to leave it for five days,” Sam said, pen scribbling down the names of each pill bottle again.
Dean grinned. “Which is technically today!”
Sam frowned, glancing down at his watch. 4:37am. “Maybe we should wait a few more hours bef-”
“Just help me get this off,” Dean interrupted, fingers picking at the tattered edges of the bandage.
Reaching forward, Sam helped to unwind the bandages from around Dean's head, revealing two cotton eye pads taped neatly over his brother's eyes. “You sure about this?”
Releasing a deep breath, Dean nodded his head, jaw bunching as he clenched his teeth.
Carefully peeling off the medical tape, Sam removed the eyes pads, holding his breath as Dean's eyelids slowly opened. “Well?”
Dean smirked, eyes bright as he winked. “You need a hair cut, Rapunzel.”
Sam socked his brother in the shoulder, his dimples deep as he smiled. “You're such a jerk.”
Dean held up his hands. “Take a joke, bitch.”
Pulling himself up onto his crutches, Sam slowly made his made his way across the room towards the bathroom, looking over his shoulder at his brother who was grinning from ear to ear, eyes scanning the room like he'd never seen it before.
Closing the door Sam was unable to wipe the relief-fuelled smile from his face. They'd dodged a bullet. Another one. But Dean could see, Sam's ankle would heal and in the meantime maybe a little R&R wouldn't be so bad. Give them some time to just be brother's again.
“Sam!” Dean's gruff voice thundered through the door. “What the hell did you do to my car?”
The End