FIC: A Thousand Steps to Home 1/2
Title: A Thousand Steps to Home
Author: placeofinsanity/Miss ’Drea
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Word Count: +15,000
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural - Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Becky/Chuck
Summary: When Sam gets blinded on a relatively routine hunt, they don’t realize that someone, something, much more terrible is behind it.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Kripke and Gamble own all. Siiiigh.
Warnings: Overuse of bad medical terms that came from watching too much House M.D. Some OCs, and some Angel Lore heavily borrowed from The Dresden Files. Lasciel was just too cool not to use.
Art Post by retrophysics
*
When Sam hit the floor, Dean thought he was dead. Blood leaked out of a gash hidden by his hair, oozing sluggishly over his forehead, painting over his eyes. Dean threw himself against the Vampires that held him, telling himself that head wounds always bled more and looked worse than they actually were.
He started shouting Sam’s name, but Sam wasn’t moving. He couldn’t even tell if Sam was breathing. They had worked too hard to fix what they had for Sam to die now.
*
Sam didn’t hear when Dean shouted his name. He had less than half a moment to realize that he was completely boned before everything went pitch dark. He could almost hear Dean screaming something, obscenities mixed with his name, but it all sounded like it was through water.
He could barely feel it when his knees hit the ground, the screaming he was hearing trailed off into a high pitched whine, until even that faded into silence. He laid there, his face in what felt like dirt, unable to move, hear or see.
Then even what little awareness Sam had left faded completely and then he knew nothing more.
When he came to again, he could feel rough sheets around him, and his back was bare against them. Hospital gown, it must be, because his front half was covered in what should be passing for cotton. There was an IV in his arm, the muscles screaming in protest when he jerked his hands up to his bandaged eyes. Everything was dark and everything was silent and he knew that something was very, very wrong.
Someone took his hand, calloused, broad, Dean. He tried to say his brother’s name, could feel his throat vibrate with the attempt, but couldn’t hear himself speak. He felt fingers brush his temple, light, warm, and it was probably Cas. He didn’t trust muscle memory to not mangle his name, so he settled for turning into the touch.
The hand Dean was holding was moving, propelled along until the backs of his fingers touched warm skin. Dean let go and Sam let his hand stay, feeling along his brother until he figured out he was touching Dean’s throat. He laid his palm over the expanse and felt the motion of his brother speaking. He heard nothing.
Slowly, knowing the test he just failed weighed on his brother, he shook his head. Blind, though currently that was just the bandages, and deaf, he wasn’t a hunter anymore. With that sobering thought, Sam let himself sink back under, merging darkness with something more.
He could only imagine how Bobby felt, and the thought wasn’t pretty. Unconsciousness at least silenced his thoughts.
They were very loud in his otherwise silent world.
*
“What’s wrong with him, Doc?” Dean asked pensively, watching his brother fall back into unconsciousness. “He can’t see, he can’t hear either, he tried...he couldn’t even say my name.”
Doctor Sinclair, a balding man with bright blue eyes frowned expressively down into his chart. “These numbers are within the range of a currently healthy individual, but son, your brother has been extremely ill for a very long time. Sometimes these things hide in symptoms atypical of the disease but the cancer that was in your brother’s brain probably ate away at his ability to see and hear correctly long before you would have noticed anything.”
“Symptoms?” Castiel interrupted, seeing the flinch in Dean’s eyes. “What kind of symptoms, Doctor Sinclair?”
“Judging by the severity of the tumor we removed, I’d say... splitting migraines, severe light sensitivity, irritability, mood swings of extreme proportions,” the doctor ticked off each symptom with ruthless efficiency. “And, I would imagine, some personality changes that would seem out of character for the man you knew before. Poor decision making, or a lack of coping skills. Degradation of the prefrontal cortex.”
Cas and Dean exchanged a look. “Yeah, that’s...that sounds about right,” Dean whispered hoarsely. “What about...the eyesight or the hearing.”
Sinclair breathed out slowly, loud enough to be noticed and it told Dean nothing good. “His hearing may come back in time. The loss is probably a side effect of the beam hitting him - and the reason for your visit. But the eye sight? I can’t give you a proper diagnosis, Mr. Charon, because I’ve never seen anything like this. His chances are 100 percent...or zero.”
Dean swore harshly and wheeled away to look out the window. “Is there anything we can do?” Castiel asked, taking over the questioning. “Specialists, or therapists?”
“Well,” Sinclair said, flipping over another piece of paper, “we’ll run him through another CT Scan, and see how his eardrums fared in the accident. If they’re intact, we can go in for surgery and put in sensitive tubes that work like the natural tubes in his ear. It’ll greatly increase his chances for his hearing to be returned. It’s called a ‘cochlear implant’.”
“Good. Do it.” Dean turned back away from the window. “My brother can’t live like this.” Not like this and be a hunter, what was what he didn’t say, but Castiel could hear it.
Sinclair nodded. “The CT scan will wait until tomorrow, at least until some of the radiation from the surgery clears his system.” He gave Dean a brief smile. “I don’t know what you two were doing that caused that head injury of his, but it likely saved his life.”
Dean flinched again, remembering the expression on Sam’s face before the vampire got the drop on him, slamming his head into the pole holding up the ceiling. Sam had fallen like his strings were cut, he didn’t respond, didn’t even move and for one terrified moment, Dean thought that he was dead.
But he was breathing shallowly and responded by flinching to Dean’s light face slap. No matter how loud Dean shouted his name and Cas used up whatever was left of his angel mojo to pop them into the alleyway by a local hospital.
Dean was practically choking on his anxiety, and Cas was human enough now to realize how close they came to losing Sam from something entirely mundane.
A brain tumor, malignant for what they estimated was four years, probably five. About the time the visions started, about the time he started using his powers.
Azazel hadn’t told them about the expiration date.
“But,” Sinclair interrupted Dean’s musings, “we were able to remove the whole tumor, and odds of a relapse are very low, almost infinitesimal.”
Assuming Sam never used his powers again, at least. “Thank you, Doctor Sinclair,” Cas intoned for Dean who was too busy staring at Sam to be polite. He’d done his part. The rest was up to Sam.
*
Sam floated in and out of consciousness for an indeterminate amount of time, feeling warm and cradled by something he couldn’t see. The darkness was infinite, all encompassing, and blacker than any night. He could no longer tell the difference between unconsciousness and being awake.
Until through the thready feeling of his heartbeat, he could hear the heart monitor beeping in a slow and steady counterpoint. He concentrated on that, listening past the sound to the rustle of clothes somewhere to his left. There was a rhythmic squeak, someone with rubber shoes was walking by. “Mr. Charon?” a female voice said. “I just need to check your brother’s vitals, and then I’ll get out of your way.”
Charon? That must be the name they were using this time around. Sam almost could appreciate the irony. There were still bandages over his eyes. “Dean,” he said, and he could hear the correctness this time. He could hear the nurse and his brother gasp in tandem.
“Sammy?” Dean asked, and Sam could hear the hope in his voice. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, reaching out blindly for his brother’s, “Yeah Dean, I can hear you.”
*
The door to his room opened and Sam turned his face towards the sound. They had taken the bandages off earlier that day, giving him the dismal prognosis that he would likely never see again. His hearing however, was almost painfully acute, as Dean and Cas had blushingly found out the day before. (Sam had to loudly remind them that just because he was blind didn’t mean he couldn’t hear, and oh-by-the-way, I’m glad you got your acts together, now stop kissing where I can hear you.)
“Good afternoon, Sam,” his nurse said. Her name was Debbie, she had four kids and none of them were hers. He liked her, she was strong and sassy and had no trouble throwing down with Dean. “How do you feel today?”
“Like I’m blind,” he said, but he was smiling. “And I think I like these hearing tubes.”
She laughed and it resonated inside his head for a second. “I heard you got the one up on your brother and his boyfriend.”
When he grinned he could feel the stretch of the stitches at the back of his head. They’d had to cut his hair when they went in for emergency surgery two weeks ago. (His hair hadn’t been this short since high school.) “Yeah, my hearing is much better than it was.”
Debbie grinned back despite knowing he couldn’t see her. His eyes were open but the hazel was dull, muted, the pupils fixed points that didn’t change no matter the light source. She waved a hand in front of his face just as she did every time she went in to get his vitals. “Nothing huh?” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Sam responded in kind. “Though I do like your perfume this week. Keep with it.”
She was startled into another laugh. “Micah in Pharmacy hasn’t noticed so drop him a hint would you?” she teased, touching the top of Sam’s head. “Lunch should be in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll let him know,” Sam said dryly. “Thanks.”
When she closed the door softly behind her, he was left in silent darkness again. The easy smile faded from his eyes and he lay back, closing his useless eyes. He lost track of time, which was now so easy to do, and then the door opened again. Their shoes didn’t squeak so whoever it was, it wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. Dean and Cas announced their presence, loudly, and anyone else was identifiable by their smell. “Hey Sam,” a vaguely familiar voice said. “Heard you were hard up, thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
He turned his head towards the voice, and heard a gasp of someone who clearly hadn’t been told he was blind. “Hi,” he said quietly, tensing. He could hear the heart monitor speed up somewhere to his left. “Yes. I’m blind. Nothing doing to fix it either,” he added, trying to feel out the person beside him.
There was an almost tangible pause in the room and Sam sighed, closing his eyes. “Becky thought I should come and...offer some sort of divine passing, but I’ve got nothing. The dreams...they didn’t tell me you were blind.”
Ah. That explained it. “Chuck,” Sam murmured. “I’m sure none of your avid readers want to read about one of your heroes getting blinded. Leave this part out.”
“Sam,” there was a broken quality to Chuck’s voice, almost an aching tenderness, and Sam started when he felt the writers hand fall on his forehead. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” he asked, “it’s not like you caused this to happen.”
There was a telling pause and Sam wondered for a minute what was going on inside Chuck’s head. “I’m no good at this, Sam,” Chuck muttered quietly. “Big things I can do, but I think I lost the ability to fix the small stuff.”
Sam furrowed his brow. “Dude,” he said. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Chuck yanked his hand away from Sam. “Nothing. Sorry.” Sam could hear him sit down in the chair beside him. Dean must be getting food, or finally sleeping. “So uh...how do you feel?”
Sam swallowed once. “Like a blind hunter, Chuck.” He made a noise and suddenly the door flung itself open and a whirlwind barreled through. “Hi Becky,” he said when the doors slammed shut.
She squealed. “How did you know it was me?” She immediately plopped down on the side of Sam’s bed, leaning over and using his hip as a pillow for her head.
“Um, the noise gave it away,” he said, amused. As unorthodox as Becky was, he was glad she was always so expressive with her touch. Other than the original hand hold, Dean very rarely touched Sam, and Cas touched him even less. “How are you, Becky?”
“Oh I’m fine,” she said loudly. He hid a wince and she turned her head to face Chuck, as her voice got a little muffled. “Chuck and I drove like maniacs to get here, where’s Dean?”
Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Somewhere, I guess. I haven’t seen him.”
Apparently it was too early for bad blind jokes, because Chuck cleared his throat and Becky’s indrawn breath was a little sharp. “Sam,” she murmured.
“Hey, look guys, it’s fine. I’ll - I’ll deal, okay?” He could feel Becky nod against his leg where she’d left her head. “I’m not really...it’s not like this is the end of the world.” As soon as the words left his mouth he wished they hadn’t. “Well,” he said quietly. “I’m damaged goods now anyway. Lucifer wouldn’t want a damaged host, right?”
She reached out and smoothed a hand over his cheek, carding her fingers through his hair. Sam smiled a little and leaned into the touch. Once she had started dating Chuck, her awkward obsession over them had dimmed. And she’d finally stopped drilling him on physical details, because really, no. Just no.
“A-Actually, Sam. Lucifer might use this against you,” Chuck added hesitantly from the chair. “He could...could probably heal you, offer it to you like a reward for saying yes.”
Sam’s heart froze in his chest. No. His hands were trembling and he let them drop, one on the bed beside him, the other on top of Becky’s head. He felt himself pale, the rush of blood away from his face, and the heart monitor he was still connected to sped up minutely.
Of course, that’s when Dean walked in. His brother took one look at Sam’s face and immediately knew something was wrong. “Sam?” he asked sharply.
“I’m okay,” was the quiet answer. “Just...we’re being realistic.”
There was a long pause and Sam longed to be able to read the expression on his brother’s face. Finally Dean sighed and his shirt rustled like he was handing stuff out. “I snuck you in coffee,” he said. Dean’s calloused hands took Sam’s and lifted them to a hot cup. The warmth trickled in through his fingers and Sam cradled it for a second before drinking it. Carmel latte macchiato just like he usually ordered. “And I lost some serious man points getting it for you too, you big girl,” Dean snapped, right on cue.
Sam smiled. “Thanks Dean,” he murmured into his cup. He lapsed into silence and let the conversation of Chuck and Dean wash over him. He could feel Becky’s eyes on him, and allowed his eyes to close as she rubbed the side of her thumb over his hip. The mellowness of the atmosphere lulled him to sleep, and then he could see.
*
Lucifer was wearing an apron. It had frills, and was pink - and wasn’t really what Sam wanted to see. His Vessel was falling apart. There were purple-blue bruises around each of his joints, both wrists, his jaw all looked as though he’d been beaten with a meat tenderizer. There were large boils splitting the skin of his face and some were oozing yellowish pus down the side of his neck. “Oh Sam,” Lucifer murmured, his entire being softening in what looked like compassion. “Oh Sam, your beautiful eyes. I am so, so sorry.”
Sam turned away and closed his eyes, trying to block out the image and the words, letting the now familiar darkness cloak him. “Is this the part where you offer me my sight back?” he asked tiredly.
“No,” Lucifer said gently. “No, when you find a cure, and I’m certain that you will, you’ll want to do it on your own.” Sam left his eyes closed, but turned his head towards the Morningstar. “I have to admit Samuel, this is something I didn’t see coming.”
“Yeah well, me either,” Sam snapped. “So if you’re not here to offer me my eyesight back, then go away.” He settled back into the chair and turned his face away.
“I needed to apologize, Sam. When Azazel began his plan of attack on you and others like you, I never imagined that it would cause such pain.”
Sam didn’t respond, he just pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and waited to wake up.
When he did finally, it was to more darkness. He didn’t open his eyes, straining his ears for any tell-tale signs that would give away a person. At first there was nothing, but then, just barely, he could hear someone breathing.
It was slow, slower than a normal human. Castiel. He’d gotten used to his breathing patterns over the last few months, the angel tended to guard Dean’s dreams, hiding Hell from him. “Cas,” he murmured. He smiled briefly when he felt a warm hand brush the hair of his face. “Chuck was right,” he said, “it was one of the first things Lucifer mentioned.” The hand brushed over his closed eyes. “I said no.”
The hand dipped down to touch the corner of his mouth. “Cas?” When the too warm fingers slid down his jaw and feathered over his neck he opened his eyes on reflex.
There was nothing, just inky blackness. The fingers pressed against the pulse point. “Cas...are you...say something.”
The chair rustled and Castiel’s weight transferred to the bed. A warm, lightly stubbled cheek pressed against his. “If I could heal you, I would,” a voice, not Castiel’s but equally as familiar, whispered.
Sam froze. “Who...?”
The door opened but Sam could just barely hear the sound of displaced air of an Angel disappearing. If it wasn’t Castiel, then it must have been...
Gabriel.
“Hey Sam,” Dean said, bringing the smell of Chinese takeout with him. “Sam. You okay?”
Sam immediately closed his eyes. Dean didn’t like staring into his dead, unhappy eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Then I come bearing gifts,” he announced, settling on the edge of the bed. “Chinese and some sunglasses.”
Sam’s lip curled. “They better not be those stupid bug glasses that teenage girls wear, you jerk,” he said.
Dean snorted a laugh. “Bitch, you’d be so lucky.” He felt Dean lean forward and brush his hair away from his face. “Can I?” Sam nodded and he felt glasses slip onto his face. He brought his hands up to feel around them, they were small, oval sized, and had no rims. “They’ve got blue-black-grey, I don’t know something like that, as a color. So it makes you look...” Dean trailed off. “Like, you’re sun phobic.”
Sam grinned, liking the way they settled on his face. “Thanks, man.” He held out his hands, crooking his fingers towards where he could smell the food. “Gimme ”
It wasn’t until Dean had filled the plate and handed him a fork that he realized how tricky eating could be when you couldn’t see what you were doing. “Sam,” Dean murmured.
“No, I’ll do it.” He set his jaw, figured out which side the fork was turned, and lowered it slowly to the plate. Slowly, so slowly, he figured out what was on the plate, eating even slower, but managed it with minimal mess.
“So dude,” Dean said after the plates had been moved onto the floor. “This kind of sucks.”
His smile fading, Sam looked away, feeling the glasses slide a little on his nose. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It really kind of does. I guess we should make the most of it, right? You can drop me off at Bobby’s...we can find programs to read websites for me...I can research, you can still hunt. I mean, you have Cas...”
Dean’s hand covered his. “Sam. Stop.”
Sam stilled, feeling his eyes burn. “Dean, can you just...not pretend that I can bounce back from this?” He pulled his hand away from his brothers to rub at his forehead behind the sunglasses. “I’m sorry...I...” he shook his head. “God, at least I’m not deaf too,” he whispered.
“Sam...” Dean said. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
He closed his eyes behind the glasses. “Maybe.”
*
When Sam woke up again, he could hear Dean talking. There were no responses, so Sam figured he was on the phone. “Look, I can’t get up to see the place right now. I’m...” he trailed off and waited for whoever it was to respond. “Okay. Look, call Bobby Singer. He can give you all the necessary information.”
Necessary information?
Sam opened his eyes, no longer disappointed when the darkness didn’t change. “Yeah, Robert Singer. I put him down on my list of references.”
List of references?
“Amazing, thank you. Look, as soon as my brother is out of hospital, we’ll be moving in.”
Moving in?
Dean must have looked towards him because suddenly the conversation got much quieter. “Thanks, man,” he muttered into the cell phone. Sam could hear the snap of the phone closing. “Sammy, you awake?”
“Who was on the phone?”
He could hear Dean sigh, and the bed dipped down when he sat. “You can’t hunt like this Sammy,” his brother said quietly. “And we’ll look for every cure possible but until then, we need...a home base.” Sam stilled. “I know that...for years you wanted a place of our own, so now...” A shift told Sam that Dean had shrugged. “Now we have one.”
Something tightened in Sam’s chest, and he was glad for the sunglasses and hair that covered the expression he could feel cross his face. “Dean,” he murmured. “Where? How?”
“It’s, in um...well, it’s near Bobby’s,” he said. “Just outside of Sioux Falls. Nice place, he’s been there, checked it out for us.” There was more movement but Sam couldn’t figure out what it was, exactly. “Good hospital near there too.”
Sam sighed loudly, his lips quirking up in a smile. “You’re going to take care of me until we die of old age, aren’t you?” he asked, mostly rhetorical.
“Yup,” Dean answered, matter-of-fact. “Until I die, because damn it Sam, I am so dying first.” Sam grinned and reached out blindly for his brother. Dean caught his hand before it hung in space for too long, and pulled him into a rough hug. Hugs between them had usually been reserved for moments of life and death, or great swells of emotion. This had nothing to do with either of those - it was pure comfort.
“So, um...” Sam murmured. “I can’t be sure...you know, with the whole being blind thing. But I think Gabriel was here, earlier. Just before you showed up.”
He could feel Dean’s displeasure through the hug. “Gabriel?” he repeated, pulling back just enough that Sam could feel his breath on his face. “Why the hell would that asshole come here?”
Sam shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know,” he answered. “He said something like, wishing he could heal me if he could.”
Dean’s finger, or more accurately his thumb judging by the callouses on it, feathered over his cheek. “Could he?”
“He didn’t make it sound like it.”
His brother fell away and Sam leaned back against the pillow. “Well what the fuck good is he then?” But Sam could hear the disappointment. “Cas...he doesn’t have enough mojo,” Dean murmured quietly.
“Yeah and about that,” Sam said, letting a lascivious grin pull his lips up. “When are you going to tell me when that happened?”
Dean snorted and very primly replied, “never.”
So Sam pulled out the big guns. He pouted, settling down into the covers and closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Fine,” he sighed out, and when Dean didn’t get the hint right away, he sighed again, sadly.
“Oh for, really Sammy?” Dean bit out, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is your reaction?”
Briefly Sam wondered if it was still too early for blind jokes and just settled for being honest. “Well,” he said carefully. “It’s not like anyone is going to want a washed up, old, blind hunter in their lives, so I have to live vicariously through yours.”
Dean made a noise, a cross between a sharp inhale and what sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Sammy...” he murmured. Sam didn’t answer, but settled more firmly into his pillows. “It happened right before...your accident.” Sam’s eyes snapped open even though he couldn’t see through them, it was still reflex. “Cas was...it just happened.”
“Dude,” Sam said. “You suck at retelling.”
Even though Sam couldn’t see the face, he knew it was there. “Bitch,” Dean snapped, biffing him in the head with a spare pillow. There was no heat in it, and Sam couldn’t help but grin.
“Jerk,” he shot back, and felt the world settle in a little better around him.
*
When Sam woke up on the seventh day of his stay at the hospital, he immediately knew that someone was in the room with him. “Gabriel?” he asked hesitantly, because anyone else would have announced their presence. (Dean had taken to hitting him with a pillow to wake him up, Castiel tended to take his hand the minute his eyes opened and Becky would just molest him.)
The breathing got a little sharper, as though he was surprised that Sam would call him out. “It’s all right if you don’t want to say anything,” Sam said after a second of silence. “I know you can’t heal me.” He fumbled for the sunglasses that had been resting on the bedside table. He overreached and they skittered away until a warm hand pressed them into his grip. “Thanks.”
They sat in silence again and Sam finally sighed. “Why are you here, Gabriel?”
Another sharp breath. “How’d you know it was me?”
Sam allowed himself a small smile. “I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out who is sitting with me. Dean can’t stop touching me, and Cas breathes slower...so do you. Only he says my name when I open my eyes.” He closed them, a new habit. “I don’t know how many Angels would be sitting at my bedside.”
Sam could hear the smirk. “You may have a point there, Sasquatch.” There was a rustle, and an overly warm hand took his. Gabriel’s fingers traced over the veins and knuckles of Sam’s free hand. “I’ve kept an eye on you Winchester’s for years. I missed this.” Gabriel’s other hand brushed over Sam’s temple. “I’m...sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
Sam wished he could see the look on his face. “No, perhaps not.” Gabriel slipped his hand up the slope of Sam’s wrist. He trailed his fingers over the cool skin there, and Sam breathed in a little sharply. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts a little,” Sam answered, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. There were still tender places where the stitches were, and his hair was far shorter than he was comfortable with it being. “It’s just…hard to get used to.”
Gabriel’s hand continued its slow ascent up from Sam’s wrist to slip hot fingers over the inside of his elbow. “I am sorry,” he murmured, pulling Sam’s hand into his own lap. Sam started when he felt warm lips pressed against his knuckles.
“Gabriel...what are you doing?” he murmured. He could feel the archangel’s smile against his palm, as he spread kisses over Sam’s cool skin.
“Trying to make you feel better.” The words were muffled against Sam’s wrist, and Sam sighed and let Gabriel do as he wished. “You didn’t deserve this, kiddo.”
The door flew open and Sam jerked his hand back to the sound of displaced air rushing around him. “He was here again, wasn’t he?” Dean asked, resigned, closing the door a little more quietly.
Sam rubbed his wrist absently. “Yeah.” Dean took his hand when he sat and Sam smiled inwardly. “When do I get out of here?”
Dean grimaced. “The doctor says they want to do a few more tests on your eyes before we can get you out of here. Other than the concussion, which by the way, he says you’ve had way too many of in your short lifetime, and the uh, ‘cochlear implants’, you’re in mostly perfect health.”
Sighing, Sam rubbed the tight skin around his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What do they think is causing the blindness?”
“Originally,” Dean began and Sam could immediately tell that he was mostly quoting the doctor, “they believed it was the brain tumor that caused damage to your, opictal? Oedipal? Uh...”
“Occipital?”
“Yeah that thing, lobe. But after your first MRI, there was no lasting damage sustained from the legions there.” Sam twisted his wrist in a gesture for Dean to continue. “So they want to see if maybe your retina was detached from the optic nerve, which is actually fixable with surgery, so that’s what they’re hopeful for. Then there’s cataracts or glaucoma and that’s probably way out of proportion for what actually happened to you. Apparently diabetes is also a leading cause of blindness but there’s no history in our family. Fake or not.” Dean was clearly grinning. “I did some research while you were sleeping.”
“Wonders never ceasing,” Sam teased him. He didn’t see the swat that Dean aimed at him, but he heard the rustle and dodged.
There was a gasp, almost suppressed, like Dean hadn’t wanted him to hear. Unfortunately for him, Sam could hear pretty much everything. “That...was very Ben Affleck,” Dean said after a moment. Sam’s brow furrowed, trying to find the bad pop culture reference. “Daredevil,” he added when Sam didn’t get it.
“Oh.” Sam was quiet for a second before he pushed his sunglasses up his nose in a short movement. “So,” he said, “when do I get out of here?” There was a surprising loudly noise as an answer, but Dean didn’t even flinch. “Cas?” Sam asked, because there was no one else it could have been and wings were very loud when you couldn’t see.
There was a smile in Castiel’s voice when he answered Sam. “Yes, Sam. How did you know I appeared?”
“I can hear you. It’s like you suck all the air out of the room.” He turned his head into Castiel’s hand when he reached out and touched Sam’s forehead.
“In a few days, probably two, Sam,” Dean said, answering his question. “We’ve got a house all set up in Black Hills, South Dakota. Cost us an arm and a leg, too.”
Sam rolled his useless eyes and settled back against the bed. Things were going to be alright.
They had to be.
*
Her name was Meryn Jackson and she was a psychic which explained why Dean got the house so fast. The house itself was amazing, Sam could already tell. It creaked nicely when he walked in, and Dean explained that it was a white three story. Sam’s bedroom would be on the first floor, with a connecting bathroom.
He was sitting on the couch, leather, mostly new but used, Sam could tell, when the door flew open and he immediately thought Becky was in the room with him. “Hi Becky,” he said hoping to at least stem a flow of chatter from her.
The laugh that answered him was unfamiliar and Sam felt himself tensing. “You must be Sam,” the woman said. “I’m Meryn Jackson, your realtor.”
Sam could feel himself flushing. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “You just...reminded me of Becky.”
He didn’t know why, but he could tell she was smiling. “Yes,” she said as though she already knew that. “Becky, dating Chuck. She’s loud and she likes to read slash, especially concerning you.”
Sam made a pained face. “I see she already talked to you.”
“Not at all,” Meryn answers. “Clearly Dean conveniently didn’t mention the part where I’m a psychic.” Sam couldn’t help it. His mouth dropped open. “Bobby Singer saved my life a few years back, so I owed him. Getting you this place for cheap wasn’t easy but when you get everything downloaded from someone else’s brain to yours, things are a little simpler.”
Sam was still gaping when she stopped talking and finally managed to piece together an extremely lame: “oh” as a response over her laughter. “Sorry, just...psychic’s never get along well with us.”
Her laughter stopped like it had never started. “You’re talking about Pamela. And Missouri.” He nodded once and was a little surprised when weight settled onto the leather couch next to him, even though he hadn’t heard her move. “I steer far away from Angels, Sam.”
He huffed out half a laugh. “I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but it does.”
They sat in silence for a moment before she moved. “Dean’s coming.” He noticed a second later, he could hear the thick clomp of Dean’s boots against the creaky steps on the front porch and grinned. “Did you startle the hell out of him with your psychic-freak-powers?” he asked, leaning in a little.
“Oh yes,” Meryn answered. “But he gave me a standing invite to the house, so I guess it counts for something. Also, Becky and Chuck will be here in two days. And Sam?” She spoke quickly like she didn’t want Dean to hear. “Don’t shut Gabriel out.”
The smile was back in her voice. “How did you...?” he asked reflexively.
“Psychic,” she chimed, and breezed out past Dean with a hello.
He could hear Dean’s confusion before he heard Dean’s voice. “What was that all about?” Dean asked, dropping down onto the couch with him.
“You couldn’t have warned me that our realtor was psychic?” Sam complained mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because I thought our pull with any of those people was pretty much out when we got Pamela killed.”
He could feel Dean shrug next to him. “We did, but this one, she doesn’t seem to care. She have any insights for you?”
“She told me not to push Gabriel away.” He said it flatly, deadpan, unwilling to turn his head in Dean’s direction.
His ears picked up Dean’s grumbled mutter, though he clearly wasn’t meant to hear it. “Stupid fucker.”
“Him or me?” Sam asked mildly, savoring the surprised jolt against his arms when Dean started.
“Him,” Dean answered automatically. “What good is an Archangel if he can’t heal your eyes?”
Sam heard it before Dean saw it, and the answer came from the Archangel in question. “Because someone up there doesn’t want me to, Deano,” Gabriel nee Loki said, rustling wings that Sam could almost feel. “I haven’t been back long, but I do know that there is power behind his blindness.”
A too warm hand curved around Sam’s cheek, under his chin to cup the back of his neck. “Gabriel,” he murmured.
Dean was silent and stiff beside him, Sam could feel the tension radiating from his upper arm where it was pressed against Sam’s shoulder. “How’s Castiel?” Gabriel asked, not moving his hand.
Sam didn’t answer, the question was clearly not met for him. Silence stretched until it was almost painful, before Dean’s breath whooshed out of him and he spoke grudgingly. “He’s fine.”
Gabriel made a disappointed noise and flopped down next to Sam on the other side of the couch. “You suck at retellings,” he told Dean pointedly.
All Sam could do was laugh.
*
He knew he was sleeping, not just because he was standing in a large field, but that he could also see the sky was the color blue it turned after a thunderstorm. Sam looked around, wincing at the bright sunlight, shielding his eyes. “Too much?” asked Lucifer from somewhere behind him and Sam tensed, but didn’t turn.
“A little,” Sam said shortly, and the sun was suddenly gone, set behind the horizon in a blink, leaving the clearing in deep shadow with silver tips - the full moon bright but subtle overhead.
“Sam, please. Turn and look at me,” Lucifer implored and reluctantly, he swivelled to face the Devil. He still looked awful - worse, even from the last time he had visited Sam’s dreams. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired, even as Sam thought that a Fallen Angel should never look tired. “I don’t look so good, do I?” Lucifer said quietly, playing with the dirty hem of his shirt.
“No,” Sam answered quietly. “Can’t say as you do.”
Lucifer flashed a brief smile that stole years and anguish from his Vessel’s lined face. “It’s just this body,” he explained rubbing one hand over the worst of the boils. “In my true form, I have very few limitations.”
Sam’s mouth pursed. “You can’t have my body.”
The Devil snorted and shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask for it, not like this, not here, not now. I was speaking of the form my Father gave me.”
Sam frowned, he couldn’t help it. “I thought humans couldn’t see your true forms because our eyes would burn out?”
Lucifer laughed, throwing his whole head back. “Your eyes are already useless, Sam. I could show you in here, if you like.”
It wasn’t a question and Sam couldn’t help the nod. Lucifer flared into light so intense that Sam had to turn his face away. It faded quickly, leaving a pulsing glow the brightness of the sun around the winged form of Lucifer. “Oh my God,” Sam whispered, the words wrenched from him.
Though his vessel’s face was hidden by light and large black feathered wings, Sam could tell that Lucifer was smiling. “Not quite,” he answered with a musical chuckle. “But he did name me Light Bringer for a reason, my Host.”
The light came to Sam and folded him into a warm embrace, settling heat and feathers around him like they belonged together. “How...?” Sam tried to ask, feeling tears running down his face. “How...?”
“Let me show you wonders, my Host,” Lucifer whispered, lips brushing Sam’s ear. “I can show you the things you cannot see so you do not forget them. Sunsets, sunrises, the aurora borealis, beauty beyond measure and words. Let me show you. Just say yes.”
The light was too bright, the heat was too warm and Sam whimpered as he embraced it. “Yes,” he sobbed, desperate. “Yes.”
If Lucifer’s answering smile was tinged with triumph, the light was too bright to see it.
*
Part Two
Author: placeofinsanity/Miss ’Drea
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Word Count: +15,000
Fandom/Pairing: Supernatural - Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel, Becky/Chuck
Summary: When Sam gets blinded on a relatively routine hunt, they don’t realize that someone, something, much more terrible is behind it.
Disclaimer: Not mine, Kripke and Gamble own all. Siiiigh.
Warnings: Overuse of bad medical terms that came from watching too much House M.D. Some OCs, and some Angel Lore heavily borrowed from The Dresden Files. Lasciel was just too cool not to use.
Art Post by retrophysics
*
When Sam hit the floor, Dean thought he was dead. Blood leaked out of a gash hidden by his hair, oozing sluggishly over his forehead, painting over his eyes. Dean threw himself against the Vampires that held him, telling himself that head wounds always bled more and looked worse than they actually were.
He started shouting Sam’s name, but Sam wasn’t moving. He couldn’t even tell if Sam was breathing. They had worked too hard to fix what they had for Sam to die now.
*
Sam didn’t hear when Dean shouted his name. He had less than half a moment to realize that he was completely boned before everything went pitch dark. He could almost hear Dean screaming something, obscenities mixed with his name, but it all sounded like it was through water.
He could barely feel it when his knees hit the ground, the screaming he was hearing trailed off into a high pitched whine, until even that faded into silence. He laid there, his face in what felt like dirt, unable to move, hear or see.
Then even what little awareness Sam had left faded completely and then he knew nothing more.
When he came to again, he could feel rough sheets around him, and his back was bare against them. Hospital gown, it must be, because his front half was covered in what should be passing for cotton. There was an IV in his arm, the muscles screaming in protest when he jerked his hands up to his bandaged eyes. Everything was dark and everything was silent and he knew that something was very, very wrong.
Someone took his hand, calloused, broad, Dean. He tried to say his brother’s name, could feel his throat vibrate with the attempt, but couldn’t hear himself speak. He felt fingers brush his temple, light, warm, and it was probably Cas. He didn’t trust muscle memory to not mangle his name, so he settled for turning into the touch.
The hand Dean was holding was moving, propelled along until the backs of his fingers touched warm skin. Dean let go and Sam let his hand stay, feeling along his brother until he figured out he was touching Dean’s throat. He laid his palm over the expanse and felt the motion of his brother speaking. He heard nothing.
Slowly, knowing the test he just failed weighed on his brother, he shook his head. Blind, though currently that was just the bandages, and deaf, he wasn’t a hunter anymore. With that sobering thought, Sam let himself sink back under, merging darkness with something more.
He could only imagine how Bobby felt, and the thought wasn’t pretty. Unconsciousness at least silenced his thoughts.
They were very loud in his otherwise silent world.
*
“What’s wrong with him, Doc?” Dean asked pensively, watching his brother fall back into unconsciousness. “He can’t see, he can’t hear either, he tried...he couldn’t even say my name.”
Doctor Sinclair, a balding man with bright blue eyes frowned expressively down into his chart. “These numbers are within the range of a currently healthy individual, but son, your brother has been extremely ill for a very long time. Sometimes these things hide in symptoms atypical of the disease but the cancer that was in your brother’s brain probably ate away at his ability to see and hear correctly long before you would have noticed anything.”
“Symptoms?” Castiel interrupted, seeing the flinch in Dean’s eyes. “What kind of symptoms, Doctor Sinclair?”
“Judging by the severity of the tumor we removed, I’d say... splitting migraines, severe light sensitivity, irritability, mood swings of extreme proportions,” the doctor ticked off each symptom with ruthless efficiency. “And, I would imagine, some personality changes that would seem out of character for the man you knew before. Poor decision making, or a lack of coping skills. Degradation of the prefrontal cortex.”
Cas and Dean exchanged a look. “Yeah, that’s...that sounds about right,” Dean whispered hoarsely. “What about...the eyesight or the hearing.”
Sinclair breathed out slowly, loud enough to be noticed and it told Dean nothing good. “His hearing may come back in time. The loss is probably a side effect of the beam hitting him - and the reason for your visit. But the eye sight? I can’t give you a proper diagnosis, Mr. Charon, because I’ve never seen anything like this. His chances are 100 percent...or zero.”
Dean swore harshly and wheeled away to look out the window. “Is there anything we can do?” Castiel asked, taking over the questioning. “Specialists, or therapists?”
“Well,” Sinclair said, flipping over another piece of paper, “we’ll run him through another CT Scan, and see how his eardrums fared in the accident. If they’re intact, we can go in for surgery and put in sensitive tubes that work like the natural tubes in his ear. It’ll greatly increase his chances for his hearing to be returned. It’s called a ‘cochlear implant’.”
“Good. Do it.” Dean turned back away from the window. “My brother can’t live like this.” Not like this and be a hunter, what was what he didn’t say, but Castiel could hear it.
Sinclair nodded. “The CT scan will wait until tomorrow, at least until some of the radiation from the surgery clears his system.” He gave Dean a brief smile. “I don’t know what you two were doing that caused that head injury of his, but it likely saved his life.”
Dean flinched again, remembering the expression on Sam’s face before the vampire got the drop on him, slamming his head into the pole holding up the ceiling. Sam had fallen like his strings were cut, he didn’t respond, didn’t even move and for one terrified moment, Dean thought that he was dead.
But he was breathing shallowly and responded by flinching to Dean’s light face slap. No matter how loud Dean shouted his name and Cas used up whatever was left of his angel mojo to pop them into the alleyway by a local hospital.
Dean was practically choking on his anxiety, and Cas was human enough now to realize how close they came to losing Sam from something entirely mundane.
A brain tumor, malignant for what they estimated was four years, probably five. About the time the visions started, about the time he started using his powers.
Azazel hadn’t told them about the expiration date.
“But,” Sinclair interrupted Dean’s musings, “we were able to remove the whole tumor, and odds of a relapse are very low, almost infinitesimal.”
Assuming Sam never used his powers again, at least. “Thank you, Doctor Sinclair,” Cas intoned for Dean who was too busy staring at Sam to be polite. He’d done his part. The rest was up to Sam.
*
Sam floated in and out of consciousness for an indeterminate amount of time, feeling warm and cradled by something he couldn’t see. The darkness was infinite, all encompassing, and blacker than any night. He could no longer tell the difference between unconsciousness and being awake.
Until through the thready feeling of his heartbeat, he could hear the heart monitor beeping in a slow and steady counterpoint. He concentrated on that, listening past the sound to the rustle of clothes somewhere to his left. There was a rhythmic squeak, someone with rubber shoes was walking by. “Mr. Charon?” a female voice said. “I just need to check your brother’s vitals, and then I’ll get out of your way.”
Charon? That must be the name they were using this time around. Sam almost could appreciate the irony. There were still bandages over his eyes. “Dean,” he said, and he could hear the correctness this time. He could hear the nurse and his brother gasp in tandem.
“Sammy?” Dean asked, and Sam could hear the hope in his voice. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, reaching out blindly for his brother’s, “Yeah Dean, I can hear you.”
*
The door to his room opened and Sam turned his face towards the sound. They had taken the bandages off earlier that day, giving him the dismal prognosis that he would likely never see again. His hearing however, was almost painfully acute, as Dean and Cas had blushingly found out the day before. (Sam had to loudly remind them that just because he was blind didn’t mean he couldn’t hear, and oh-by-the-way, I’m glad you got your acts together, now stop kissing where I can hear you.)
“Good afternoon, Sam,” his nurse said. Her name was Debbie, she had four kids and none of them were hers. He liked her, she was strong and sassy and had no trouble throwing down with Dean. “How do you feel today?”
“Like I’m blind,” he said, but he was smiling. “And I think I like these hearing tubes.”
She laughed and it resonated inside his head for a second. “I heard you got the one up on your brother and his boyfriend.”
When he grinned he could feel the stretch of the stitches at the back of his head. They’d had to cut his hair when they went in for emergency surgery two weeks ago. (His hair hadn’t been this short since high school.) “Yeah, my hearing is much better than it was.”
Debbie grinned back despite knowing he couldn’t see her. His eyes were open but the hazel was dull, muted, the pupils fixed points that didn’t change no matter the light source. She waved a hand in front of his face just as she did every time she went in to get his vitals. “Nothing huh?” she said softly.
“Yeah,” Sam responded in kind. “Though I do like your perfume this week. Keep with it.”
She was startled into another laugh. “Micah in Pharmacy hasn’t noticed so drop him a hint would you?” she teased, touching the top of Sam’s head. “Lunch should be in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll let him know,” Sam said dryly. “Thanks.”
When she closed the door softly behind her, he was left in silent darkness again. The easy smile faded from his eyes and he lay back, closing his useless eyes. He lost track of time, which was now so easy to do, and then the door opened again. Their shoes didn’t squeak so whoever it was, it wasn’t a nurse or a doctor. Dean and Cas announced their presence, loudly, and anyone else was identifiable by their smell. “Hey Sam,” a vaguely familiar voice said. “Heard you were hard up, thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
He turned his head towards the voice, and heard a gasp of someone who clearly hadn’t been told he was blind. “Hi,” he said quietly, tensing. He could hear the heart monitor speed up somewhere to his left. “Yes. I’m blind. Nothing doing to fix it either,” he added, trying to feel out the person beside him.
There was an almost tangible pause in the room and Sam sighed, closing his eyes. “Becky thought I should come and...offer some sort of divine passing, but I’ve got nothing. The dreams...they didn’t tell me you were blind.”
Ah. That explained it. “Chuck,” Sam murmured. “I’m sure none of your avid readers want to read about one of your heroes getting blinded. Leave this part out.”
“Sam,” there was a broken quality to Chuck’s voice, almost an aching tenderness, and Sam started when he felt the writers hand fall on his forehead. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” he asked, “it’s not like you caused this to happen.”
There was a telling pause and Sam wondered for a minute what was going on inside Chuck’s head. “I’m no good at this, Sam,” Chuck muttered quietly. “Big things I can do, but I think I lost the ability to fix the small stuff.”
Sam furrowed his brow. “Dude,” he said. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Chuck yanked his hand away from Sam. “Nothing. Sorry.” Sam could hear him sit down in the chair beside him. Dean must be getting food, or finally sleeping. “So uh...how do you feel?”
Sam swallowed once. “Like a blind hunter, Chuck.” He made a noise and suddenly the door flung itself open and a whirlwind barreled through. “Hi Becky,” he said when the doors slammed shut.
She squealed. “How did you know it was me?” She immediately plopped down on the side of Sam’s bed, leaning over and using his hip as a pillow for her head.
“Um, the noise gave it away,” he said, amused. As unorthodox as Becky was, he was glad she was always so expressive with her touch. Other than the original hand hold, Dean very rarely touched Sam, and Cas touched him even less. “How are you, Becky?”
“Oh I’m fine,” she said loudly. He hid a wince and she turned her head to face Chuck, as her voice got a little muffled. “Chuck and I drove like maniacs to get here, where’s Dean?”
Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Somewhere, I guess. I haven’t seen him.”
Apparently it was too early for bad blind jokes, because Chuck cleared his throat and Becky’s indrawn breath was a little sharp. “Sam,” she murmured.
“Hey, look guys, it’s fine. I’ll - I’ll deal, okay?” He could feel Becky nod against his leg where she’d left her head. “I’m not really...it’s not like this is the end of the world.” As soon as the words left his mouth he wished they hadn’t. “Well,” he said quietly. “I’m damaged goods now anyway. Lucifer wouldn’t want a damaged host, right?”
She reached out and smoothed a hand over his cheek, carding her fingers through his hair. Sam smiled a little and leaned into the touch. Once she had started dating Chuck, her awkward obsession over them had dimmed. And she’d finally stopped drilling him on physical details, because really, no. Just no.
“A-Actually, Sam. Lucifer might use this against you,” Chuck added hesitantly from the chair. “He could...could probably heal you, offer it to you like a reward for saying yes.”
Sam’s heart froze in his chest. No. His hands were trembling and he let them drop, one on the bed beside him, the other on top of Becky’s head. He felt himself pale, the rush of blood away from his face, and the heart monitor he was still connected to sped up minutely.
Of course, that’s when Dean walked in. His brother took one look at Sam’s face and immediately knew something was wrong. “Sam?” he asked sharply.
“I’m okay,” was the quiet answer. “Just...we’re being realistic.”
There was a long pause and Sam longed to be able to read the expression on his brother’s face. Finally Dean sighed and his shirt rustled like he was handing stuff out. “I snuck you in coffee,” he said. Dean’s calloused hands took Sam’s and lifted them to a hot cup. The warmth trickled in through his fingers and Sam cradled it for a second before drinking it. Carmel latte macchiato just like he usually ordered. “And I lost some serious man points getting it for you too, you big girl,” Dean snapped, right on cue.
Sam smiled. “Thanks Dean,” he murmured into his cup. He lapsed into silence and let the conversation of Chuck and Dean wash over him. He could feel Becky’s eyes on him, and allowed his eyes to close as she rubbed the side of her thumb over his hip. The mellowness of the atmosphere lulled him to sleep, and then he could see.
*
Lucifer was wearing an apron. It had frills, and was pink - and wasn’t really what Sam wanted to see. His Vessel was falling apart. There were purple-blue bruises around each of his joints, both wrists, his jaw all looked as though he’d been beaten with a meat tenderizer. There were large boils splitting the skin of his face and some were oozing yellowish pus down the side of his neck. “Oh Sam,” Lucifer murmured, his entire being softening in what looked like compassion. “Oh Sam, your beautiful eyes. I am so, so sorry.”
Sam turned away and closed his eyes, trying to block out the image and the words, letting the now familiar darkness cloak him. “Is this the part where you offer me my sight back?” he asked tiredly.
“No,” Lucifer said gently. “No, when you find a cure, and I’m certain that you will, you’ll want to do it on your own.” Sam left his eyes closed, but turned his head towards the Morningstar. “I have to admit Samuel, this is something I didn’t see coming.”
“Yeah well, me either,” Sam snapped. “So if you’re not here to offer me my eyesight back, then go away.” He settled back into the chair and turned his face away.
“I needed to apologize, Sam. When Azazel began his plan of attack on you and others like you, I never imagined that it would cause such pain.”
Sam didn’t respond, he just pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and waited to wake up.
When he did finally, it was to more darkness. He didn’t open his eyes, straining his ears for any tell-tale signs that would give away a person. At first there was nothing, but then, just barely, he could hear someone breathing.
It was slow, slower than a normal human. Castiel. He’d gotten used to his breathing patterns over the last few months, the angel tended to guard Dean’s dreams, hiding Hell from him. “Cas,” he murmured. He smiled briefly when he felt a warm hand brush the hair of his face. “Chuck was right,” he said, “it was one of the first things Lucifer mentioned.” The hand brushed over his closed eyes. “I said no.”
The hand dipped down to touch the corner of his mouth. “Cas?” When the too warm fingers slid down his jaw and feathered over his neck he opened his eyes on reflex.
There was nothing, just inky blackness. The fingers pressed against the pulse point. “Cas...are you...say something.”
The chair rustled and Castiel’s weight transferred to the bed. A warm, lightly stubbled cheek pressed against his. “If I could heal you, I would,” a voice, not Castiel’s but equally as familiar, whispered.
Sam froze. “Who...?”
The door opened but Sam could just barely hear the sound of displaced air of an Angel disappearing. If it wasn’t Castiel, then it must have been...
Gabriel.
“Hey Sam,” Dean said, bringing the smell of Chinese takeout with him. “Sam. You okay?”
Sam immediately closed his eyes. Dean didn’t like staring into his dead, unhappy eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Then I come bearing gifts,” he announced, settling on the edge of the bed. “Chinese and some sunglasses.”
Sam’s lip curled. “They better not be those stupid bug glasses that teenage girls wear, you jerk,” he said.
Dean snorted a laugh. “Bitch, you’d be so lucky.” He felt Dean lean forward and brush his hair away from his face. “Can I?” Sam nodded and he felt glasses slip onto his face. He brought his hands up to feel around them, they were small, oval sized, and had no rims. “They’ve got blue-black-grey, I don’t know something like that, as a color. So it makes you look...” Dean trailed off. “Like, you’re sun phobic.”
Sam grinned, liking the way they settled on his face. “Thanks, man.” He held out his hands, crooking his fingers towards where he could smell the food. “Gimme ”
It wasn’t until Dean had filled the plate and handed him a fork that he realized how tricky eating could be when you couldn’t see what you were doing. “Sam,” Dean murmured.
“No, I’ll do it.” He set his jaw, figured out which side the fork was turned, and lowered it slowly to the plate. Slowly, so slowly, he figured out what was on the plate, eating even slower, but managed it with minimal mess.
“So dude,” Dean said after the plates had been moved onto the floor. “This kind of sucks.”
His smile fading, Sam looked away, feeling the glasses slide a little on his nose. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It really kind of does. I guess we should make the most of it, right? You can drop me off at Bobby’s...we can find programs to read websites for me...I can research, you can still hunt. I mean, you have Cas...”
Dean’s hand covered his. “Sam. Stop.”
Sam stilled, feeling his eyes burn. “Dean, can you just...not pretend that I can bounce back from this?” He pulled his hand away from his brothers to rub at his forehead behind the sunglasses. “I’m sorry...I...” he shook his head. “God, at least I’m not deaf too,” he whispered.
“Sam...” Dean said. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
He closed his eyes behind the glasses. “Maybe.”
*
When Sam woke up again, he could hear Dean talking. There were no responses, so Sam figured he was on the phone. “Look, I can’t get up to see the place right now. I’m...” he trailed off and waited for whoever it was to respond. “Okay. Look, call Bobby Singer. He can give you all the necessary information.”
Necessary information?
Sam opened his eyes, no longer disappointed when the darkness didn’t change. “Yeah, Robert Singer. I put him down on my list of references.”
List of references?
“Amazing, thank you. Look, as soon as my brother is out of hospital, we’ll be moving in.”
Moving in?
Dean must have looked towards him because suddenly the conversation got much quieter. “Thanks, man,” he muttered into the cell phone. Sam could hear the snap of the phone closing. “Sammy, you awake?”
“Who was on the phone?”
He could hear Dean sigh, and the bed dipped down when he sat. “You can’t hunt like this Sammy,” his brother said quietly. “And we’ll look for every cure possible but until then, we need...a home base.” Sam stilled. “I know that...for years you wanted a place of our own, so now...” A shift told Sam that Dean had shrugged. “Now we have one.”
Something tightened in Sam’s chest, and he was glad for the sunglasses and hair that covered the expression he could feel cross his face. “Dean,” he murmured. “Where? How?”
“It’s, in um...well, it’s near Bobby’s,” he said. “Just outside of Sioux Falls. Nice place, he’s been there, checked it out for us.” There was more movement but Sam couldn’t figure out what it was, exactly. “Good hospital near there too.”
Sam sighed loudly, his lips quirking up in a smile. “You’re going to take care of me until we die of old age, aren’t you?” he asked, mostly rhetorical.
“Yup,” Dean answered, matter-of-fact. “Until I die, because damn it Sam, I am so dying first.” Sam grinned and reached out blindly for his brother. Dean caught his hand before it hung in space for too long, and pulled him into a rough hug. Hugs between them had usually been reserved for moments of life and death, or great swells of emotion. This had nothing to do with either of those - it was pure comfort.
“So, um...” Sam murmured. “I can’t be sure...you know, with the whole being blind thing. But I think Gabriel was here, earlier. Just before you showed up.”
He could feel Dean’s displeasure through the hug. “Gabriel?” he repeated, pulling back just enough that Sam could feel his breath on his face. “Why the hell would that asshole come here?”
Sam shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know,” he answered. “He said something like, wishing he could heal me if he could.”
Dean’s finger, or more accurately his thumb judging by the callouses on it, feathered over his cheek. “Could he?”
“He didn’t make it sound like it.”
His brother fell away and Sam leaned back against the pillow. “Well what the fuck good is he then?” But Sam could hear the disappointment. “Cas...he doesn’t have enough mojo,” Dean murmured quietly.
“Yeah and about that,” Sam said, letting a lascivious grin pull his lips up. “When are you going to tell me when that happened?”
Dean snorted and very primly replied, “never.”
So Sam pulled out the big guns. He pouted, settling down into the covers and closing his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Fine,” he sighed out, and when Dean didn’t get the hint right away, he sighed again, sadly.
“Oh for, really Sammy?” Dean bit out, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is your reaction?”
Briefly Sam wondered if it was still too early for blind jokes and just settled for being honest. “Well,” he said carefully. “It’s not like anyone is going to want a washed up, old, blind hunter in their lives, so I have to live vicariously through yours.”
Dean made a noise, a cross between a sharp inhale and what sounded suspiciously like a sob. “Sammy...” he murmured. Sam didn’t answer, but settled more firmly into his pillows. “It happened right before...your accident.” Sam’s eyes snapped open even though he couldn’t see through them, it was still reflex. “Cas was...it just happened.”
“Dude,” Sam said. “You suck at retelling.”
Even though Sam couldn’t see the face, he knew it was there. “Bitch,” Dean snapped, biffing him in the head with a spare pillow. There was no heat in it, and Sam couldn’t help but grin.
“Jerk,” he shot back, and felt the world settle in a little better around him.
*
When Sam woke up on the seventh day of his stay at the hospital, he immediately knew that someone was in the room with him. “Gabriel?” he asked hesitantly, because anyone else would have announced their presence. (Dean had taken to hitting him with a pillow to wake him up, Castiel tended to take his hand the minute his eyes opened and Becky would just molest him.)
The breathing got a little sharper, as though he was surprised that Sam would call him out. “It’s all right if you don’t want to say anything,” Sam said after a second of silence. “I know you can’t heal me.” He fumbled for the sunglasses that had been resting on the bedside table. He overreached and they skittered away until a warm hand pressed them into his grip. “Thanks.”
They sat in silence again and Sam finally sighed. “Why are you here, Gabriel?”
Another sharp breath. “How’d you know it was me?”
Sam allowed himself a small smile. “I’ve gotten pretty good at figuring out who is sitting with me. Dean can’t stop touching me, and Cas breathes slower...so do you. Only he says my name when I open my eyes.” He closed them, a new habit. “I don’t know how many Angels would be sitting at my bedside.”
Sam could hear the smirk. “You may have a point there, Sasquatch.” There was a rustle, and an overly warm hand took his. Gabriel’s fingers traced over the veins and knuckles of Sam’s free hand. “I’ve kept an eye on you Winchester’s for years. I missed this.” Gabriel’s other hand brushed over Sam’s temple. “I’m...sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
Sam wished he could see the look on his face. “No, perhaps not.” Gabriel slipped his hand up the slope of Sam’s wrist. He trailed his fingers over the cool skin there, and Sam breathed in a little sharply. “How’s your head?”
“Hurts a little,” Sam answered, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. There were still tender places where the stitches were, and his hair was far shorter than he was comfortable with it being. “It’s just…hard to get used to.”
Gabriel’s hand continued its slow ascent up from Sam’s wrist to slip hot fingers over the inside of his elbow. “I am sorry,” he murmured, pulling Sam’s hand into his own lap. Sam started when he felt warm lips pressed against his knuckles.
“Gabriel...what are you doing?” he murmured. He could feel the archangel’s smile against his palm, as he spread kisses over Sam’s cool skin.
“Trying to make you feel better.” The words were muffled against Sam’s wrist, and Sam sighed and let Gabriel do as he wished. “You didn’t deserve this, kiddo.”
The door flew open and Sam jerked his hand back to the sound of displaced air rushing around him. “He was here again, wasn’t he?” Dean asked, resigned, closing the door a little more quietly.
Sam rubbed his wrist absently. “Yeah.” Dean took his hand when he sat and Sam smiled inwardly. “When do I get out of here?”
Dean grimaced. “The doctor says they want to do a few more tests on your eyes before we can get you out of here. Other than the concussion, which by the way, he says you’ve had way too many of in your short lifetime, and the uh, ‘cochlear implants’, you’re in mostly perfect health.”
Sighing, Sam rubbed the tight skin around his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “What do they think is causing the blindness?”
“Originally,” Dean began and Sam could immediately tell that he was mostly quoting the doctor, “they believed it was the brain tumor that caused damage to your, opictal? Oedipal? Uh...”
“Occipital?”
“Yeah that thing, lobe. But after your first MRI, there was no lasting damage sustained from the legions there.” Sam twisted his wrist in a gesture for Dean to continue. “So they want to see if maybe your retina was detached from the optic nerve, which is actually fixable with surgery, so that’s what they’re hopeful for. Then there’s cataracts or glaucoma and that’s probably way out of proportion for what actually happened to you. Apparently diabetes is also a leading cause of blindness but there’s no history in our family. Fake or not.” Dean was clearly grinning. “I did some research while you were sleeping.”
“Wonders never ceasing,” Sam teased him. He didn’t see the swat that Dean aimed at him, but he heard the rustle and dodged.
There was a gasp, almost suppressed, like Dean hadn’t wanted him to hear. Unfortunately for him, Sam could hear pretty much everything. “That...was very Ben Affleck,” Dean said after a moment. Sam’s brow furrowed, trying to find the bad pop culture reference. “Daredevil,” he added when Sam didn’t get it.
“Oh.” Sam was quiet for a second before he pushed his sunglasses up his nose in a short movement. “So,” he said, “when do I get out of here?” There was a surprising loudly noise as an answer, but Dean didn’t even flinch. “Cas?” Sam asked, because there was no one else it could have been and wings were very loud when you couldn’t see.
There was a smile in Castiel’s voice when he answered Sam. “Yes, Sam. How did you know I appeared?”
“I can hear you. It’s like you suck all the air out of the room.” He turned his head into Castiel’s hand when he reached out and touched Sam’s forehead.
“In a few days, probably two, Sam,” Dean said, answering his question. “We’ve got a house all set up in Black Hills, South Dakota. Cost us an arm and a leg, too.”
Sam rolled his useless eyes and settled back against the bed. Things were going to be alright.
They had to be.
*
Her name was Meryn Jackson and she was a psychic which explained why Dean got the house so fast. The house itself was amazing, Sam could already tell. It creaked nicely when he walked in, and Dean explained that it was a white three story. Sam’s bedroom would be on the first floor, with a connecting bathroom.
He was sitting on the couch, leather, mostly new but used, Sam could tell, when the door flew open and he immediately thought Becky was in the room with him. “Hi Becky,” he said hoping to at least stem a flow of chatter from her.
The laugh that answered him was unfamiliar and Sam felt himself tensing. “You must be Sam,” the woman said. “I’m Meryn Jackson, your realtor.”
Sam could feel himself flushing. “Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “You just...reminded me of Becky.”
He didn’t know why, but he could tell she was smiling. “Yes,” she said as though she already knew that. “Becky, dating Chuck. She’s loud and she likes to read slash, especially concerning you.”
Sam made a pained face. “I see she already talked to you.”
“Not at all,” Meryn answers. “Clearly Dean conveniently didn’t mention the part where I’m a psychic.” Sam couldn’t help it. His mouth dropped open. “Bobby Singer saved my life a few years back, so I owed him. Getting you this place for cheap wasn’t easy but when you get everything downloaded from someone else’s brain to yours, things are a little simpler.”
Sam was still gaping when she stopped talking and finally managed to piece together an extremely lame: “oh” as a response over her laughter. “Sorry, just...psychic’s never get along well with us.”
Her laughter stopped like it had never started. “You’re talking about Pamela. And Missouri.” He nodded once and was a little surprised when weight settled onto the leather couch next to him, even though he hadn’t heard her move. “I steer far away from Angels, Sam.”
He huffed out half a laugh. “I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but it does.”
They sat in silence for a moment before she moved. “Dean’s coming.” He noticed a second later, he could hear the thick clomp of Dean’s boots against the creaky steps on the front porch and grinned. “Did you startle the hell out of him with your psychic-freak-powers?” he asked, leaning in a little.
“Oh yes,” Meryn answered. “But he gave me a standing invite to the house, so I guess it counts for something. Also, Becky and Chuck will be here in two days. And Sam?” She spoke quickly like she didn’t want Dean to hear. “Don’t shut Gabriel out.”
The smile was back in her voice. “How did you...?” he asked reflexively.
“Psychic,” she chimed, and breezed out past Dean with a hello.
He could hear Dean’s confusion before he heard Dean’s voice. “What was that all about?” Dean asked, dropping down onto the couch with him.
“You couldn’t have warned me that our realtor was psychic?” Sam complained mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because I thought our pull with any of those people was pretty much out when we got Pamela killed.”
He could feel Dean shrug next to him. “We did, but this one, she doesn’t seem to care. She have any insights for you?”
“She told me not to push Gabriel away.” He said it flatly, deadpan, unwilling to turn his head in Dean’s direction.
His ears picked up Dean’s grumbled mutter, though he clearly wasn’t meant to hear it. “Stupid fucker.”
“Him or me?” Sam asked mildly, savoring the surprised jolt against his arms when Dean started.
“Him,” Dean answered automatically. “What good is an Archangel if he can’t heal your eyes?”
Sam heard it before Dean saw it, and the answer came from the Archangel in question. “Because someone up there doesn’t want me to, Deano,” Gabriel nee Loki said, rustling wings that Sam could almost feel. “I haven’t been back long, but I do know that there is power behind his blindness.”
A too warm hand curved around Sam’s cheek, under his chin to cup the back of his neck. “Gabriel,” he murmured.
Dean was silent and stiff beside him, Sam could feel the tension radiating from his upper arm where it was pressed against Sam’s shoulder. “How’s Castiel?” Gabriel asked, not moving his hand.
Sam didn’t answer, the question was clearly not met for him. Silence stretched until it was almost painful, before Dean’s breath whooshed out of him and he spoke grudgingly. “He’s fine.”
Gabriel made a disappointed noise and flopped down next to Sam on the other side of the couch. “You suck at retellings,” he told Dean pointedly.
All Sam could do was laugh.
*
He knew he was sleeping, not just because he was standing in a large field, but that he could also see the sky was the color blue it turned after a thunderstorm. Sam looked around, wincing at the bright sunlight, shielding his eyes. “Too much?” asked Lucifer from somewhere behind him and Sam tensed, but didn’t turn.
“A little,” Sam said shortly, and the sun was suddenly gone, set behind the horizon in a blink, leaving the clearing in deep shadow with silver tips - the full moon bright but subtle overhead.
“Sam, please. Turn and look at me,” Lucifer implored and reluctantly, he swivelled to face the Devil. He still looked awful - worse, even from the last time he had visited Sam’s dreams. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired, even as Sam thought that a Fallen Angel should never look tired. “I don’t look so good, do I?” Lucifer said quietly, playing with the dirty hem of his shirt.
“No,” Sam answered quietly. “Can’t say as you do.”
Lucifer flashed a brief smile that stole years and anguish from his Vessel’s lined face. “It’s just this body,” he explained rubbing one hand over the worst of the boils. “In my true form, I have very few limitations.”
Sam’s mouth pursed. “You can’t have my body.”
The Devil snorted and shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask for it, not like this, not here, not now. I was speaking of the form my Father gave me.”
Sam frowned, he couldn’t help it. “I thought humans couldn’t see your true forms because our eyes would burn out?”
Lucifer laughed, throwing his whole head back. “Your eyes are already useless, Sam. I could show you in here, if you like.”
It wasn’t a question and Sam couldn’t help the nod. Lucifer flared into light so intense that Sam had to turn his face away. It faded quickly, leaving a pulsing glow the brightness of the sun around the winged form of Lucifer. “Oh my God,” Sam whispered, the words wrenched from him.
Though his vessel’s face was hidden by light and large black feathered wings, Sam could tell that Lucifer was smiling. “Not quite,” he answered with a musical chuckle. “But he did name me Light Bringer for a reason, my Host.”
The light came to Sam and folded him into a warm embrace, settling heat and feathers around him like they belonged together. “How...?” Sam tried to ask, feeling tears running down his face. “How...?”
“Let me show you wonders, my Host,” Lucifer whispered, lips brushing Sam’s ear. “I can show you the things you cannot see so you do not forget them. Sunsets, sunrises, the aurora borealis, beauty beyond measure and words. Let me show you. Just say yes.”
The light was too bright, the heat was too warm and Sam whimpered as he embraced it. “Yes,” he sobbed, desperate. “Yes.”
If Lucifer’s answering smile was tinged with triumph, the light was too bright to see it.
*
Part Two