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In time, Dean really did learn to truly see again. Even if it wasn’t in the way that he had been born to see, it was, as he’d said the day he’d gotten his sight back, better than not seeing at all. He learned to sense things better, since that’s what this new sight really was, and stopped running into walls as much. In time, he even learned how to drive his car again, and, as time went on, he could almost sense things as clearly as if he could see them.
Because he hadn’t been hunting for so long, he had to relearn how to shoot and do much of the things he’d known before he was blinded. Sam was patient, helping his brother to concentrate on seeing the target and the bulls eye he was aiming for just as he had been with him when he’d been the student and his older brother had been the teacher so many years ago. More than once, Dean got frustrated and not just during his practice as he tried to learn something he had been so good at before this stupid mistake.
“Fuck off, Sam,” he said more than once, sounding more tired than angry. “It doesn’t matter. That old bat lied. I’m never going to get my sight back. Not really. If I was, why is it taking so long?”
Sam struggled not to be hurt by what his brother said when this happened. He reminded himself that Dean had forgiven him - or, at least, he’d said he did - and now it was time to forgive himself. The only way to do that was to continue helping Dean as best he could and to do that, he had to be patient, he had to take the abuse Dean hurled his way and know he didn’t really mean it. He was only frustrated.
Each time, Sam sat down next to him, laced their fingers together and said firmly, “You will see clearly again, Dean. The fact that you can see anything now is proof of that. You just have to keep working at it, keep practicing. I believe in you. I know you can do this.”
These conversations felt forced and out of character for both of them, so they were rare and only when Dean was feeling particularly frustrated, but they helped and, with time, his favorite images were returned to him: the stars, his brother, and the open road. The first took far more effort than the other two. The stars, after all, are not large to the naked eye. But he was able to see them again and, when he and Sam stopped in the middle of nowhere to stare up at them again, he was able to appreciate them as much as he’d been able to before.
As they lay in bed together at night, no longer denying the feelings they’d kept so cleverly hidden for so long, Sam knew things could only get better from here. Of course, the world still wasn’t saved. They had to stop Dick Roman and they had to do a lot more before their work was done, but they were getting there. Slowly, surely, they were returning to the place of relative comfort they’d had before the Leviathan were released, before Dean was blinded, before so much had happened. For the first time, in a very long time, Sam thought that maybe, just maybe, things were going to turn out alright for them.
Of course, there would be bad days, but there would be plenty of good ones, too, and they both would have to learn, all over again, that the good days were the ones that mattered, they were the ones that had to count. They were much harder to remember and think about when things were rough, but they would have to try anyhow or they’d fall into an endless pit of unhappiness and neither of them really wanted to do that again. They’d both seen enough unhappiness to last a lifetime.
“It’s like I have powers instead now, Sammy,” Dean jokingly told Sam one day, grinning, running his hands over his brother’s face, tracing the contours of it with the tips of his fingers - this was a habit he’d gotten into shortly after he’d regained his sight. What Sam didn’t know was this helped Dean to see it better. Not that Sam minded, anyway. He like the feel of Dean’s fingertips ghosting over his skin. He liked leaning into his touch, closing his eyes and remembering that everything would be alright because he had his brother with him. It was easier to ignore Lucifer when Dean was there. Dean really did make everything better.
Dean could just barely make his brother out now and, with practice and time, he would be able to see him more and more clearly. Every day it would get better, as long as he worked at it, until, the only indication that Dean was truly blind, would be his foggy blue eyes that no longer looked past Sam when he was talking to him. They would never go away, but both boys were alright with that, though Dean sometimes joked it would ruin his looks.
“How am I supposed to pick up girls now, Sammy?” he would ask one night, looking at himself in the mirror, his face pressed up against the glass, struggling to see himself through the fog in his eyes. “Everyone’s going to think I’m creepy and run away.”
Sam would laugh and respond, “That’s what you have me for.” He’d come up behind him and kiss his temple, wrapping his arms around him from behind, settling his chin on his brother’s shoulder to stare into the mirror with him. “Do you really think you need to impress girls when you have me to go for?”
Smiling, Dean would turn around, take Sam’s face in his hands, and kiss him on the lips, saying, his voice soft and gentle, “What do you think I was really trying to do for all those years? I didn’t make a fool of myself just because I thought those girls would like it. I was only ever trying to impress you.”
Then Sam would smile and they would kiss again and head back towards the bed they shared - though, they still asked for two out of habit - and would collapse into it before they made love, ruining the immaculately straightened sheets and making the maids whisper about all the racket they heard in room 238 the night before.
“There’s something strange about those boys,” Sam heard them say once when they’d been in town longer than a couple of days and he would repeat it to Dean only to laugh because, really, neither of them cared any longer what other people thought of them. They didn’t even care if they knew that their relationship wasn’t one normal brothers had. All that really mattered to them was that the fear and the pain Dean had suffered for the past several months, ever since the accident, had disappeared with the smoke in the room where his blindness had been cured, and, in the end, after all that had happened, that was all that truly mattered to both of them.
fin
In time, Dean really did learn to truly see again. Even if it wasn’t in the way that he had been born to see, it was, as he’d said the day he’d gotten his sight back, better than not seeing at all. He learned to sense things better, since that’s what this new sight really was, and stopped running into walls as much. In time, he even learned how to drive his car again, and, as time went on, he could almost sense things as clearly as if he could see them.
Because he hadn’t been hunting for so long, he had to relearn how to shoot and do much of the things he’d known before he was blinded. Sam was patient, helping his brother to concentrate on seeing the target and the bulls eye he was aiming for just as he had been with him when he’d been the student and his older brother had been the teacher so many years ago. More than once, Dean got frustrated and not just during his practice as he tried to learn something he had been so good at before this stupid mistake.
“Fuck off, Sam,” he said more than once, sounding more tired than angry. “It doesn’t matter. That old bat lied. I’m never going to get my sight back. Not really. If I was, why is it taking so long?”
Sam struggled not to be hurt by what his brother said when this happened. He reminded himself that Dean had forgiven him - or, at least, he’d said he did - and now it was time to forgive himself. The only way to do that was to continue helping Dean as best he could and to do that, he had to be patient, he had to take the abuse Dean hurled his way and know he didn’t really mean it. He was only frustrated.
Each time, Sam sat down next to him, laced their fingers together and said firmly, “You will see clearly again, Dean. The fact that you can see anything now is proof of that. You just have to keep working at it, keep practicing. I believe in you. I know you can do this.”
These conversations felt forced and out of character for both of them, so they were rare and only when Dean was feeling particularly frustrated, but they helped and, with time, his favorite images were returned to him: the stars, his brother, and the open road. The first took far more effort than the other two. The stars, after all, are not large to the naked eye. But he was able to see them again and, when he and Sam stopped in the middle of nowhere to stare up at them again, he was able to appreciate them as much as he’d been able to before.
As they lay in bed together at night, no longer denying the feelings they’d kept so cleverly hidden for so long, Sam knew things could only get better from here. Of course, the world still wasn’t saved. They had to stop Dick Roman and they had to do a lot more before their work was done, but they were getting there. Slowly, surely, they were returning to the place of relative comfort they’d had before the Leviathan were released, before Dean was blinded, before so much had happened. For the first time, in a very long time, Sam thought that maybe, just maybe, things were going to turn out alright for them.
Of course, there would be bad days, but there would be plenty of good ones, too, and they both would have to learn, all over again, that the good days were the ones that mattered, they were the ones that had to count. They were much harder to remember and think about when things were rough, but they would have to try anyhow or they’d fall into an endless pit of unhappiness and neither of them really wanted to do that again. They’d both seen enough unhappiness to last a lifetime.
“It’s like I have powers instead now, Sammy,” Dean jokingly told Sam one day, grinning, running his hands over his brother’s face, tracing the contours of it with the tips of his fingers - this was a habit he’d gotten into shortly after he’d regained his sight. What Sam didn’t know was this helped Dean to see it better. Not that Sam minded, anyway. He like the feel of Dean’s fingertips ghosting over his skin. He liked leaning into his touch, closing his eyes and remembering that everything would be alright because he had his brother with him. It was easier to ignore Lucifer when Dean was there. Dean really did make everything better.
Dean could just barely make his brother out now and, with practice and time, he would be able to see him more and more clearly. Every day it would get better, as long as he worked at it, until, the only indication that Dean was truly blind, would be his foggy blue eyes that no longer looked past Sam when he was talking to him. They would never go away, but both boys were alright with that, though Dean sometimes joked it would ruin his looks.
“How am I supposed to pick up girls now, Sammy?” he would ask one night, looking at himself in the mirror, his face pressed up against the glass, struggling to see himself through the fog in his eyes. “Everyone’s going to think I’m creepy and run away.”
Sam would laugh and respond, “That’s what you have me for.” He’d come up behind him and kiss his temple, wrapping his arms around him from behind, settling his chin on his brother’s shoulder to stare into the mirror with him. “Do you really think you need to impress girls when you have me to go for?”
Smiling, Dean would turn around, take Sam’s face in his hands, and kiss him on the lips, saying, his voice soft and gentle, “What do you think I was really trying to do for all those years? I didn’t make a fool of myself just because I thought those girls would like it. I was only ever trying to impress you.”
Then Sam would smile and they would kiss again and head back towards the bed they shared - though, they still asked for two out of habit - and would collapse into it before they made love, ruining the immaculately straightened sheets and making the maids whisper about all the racket they heard in room 238 the night before.
“There’s something strange about those boys,” Sam heard them say once when they’d been in town longer than a couple of days and he would repeat it to Dean only to laugh because, really, neither of them cared any longer what other people thought of them. They didn’t even care if they knew that their relationship wasn’t one normal brothers had. All that really mattered to them was that the fear and the pain Dean had suffered for the past several months, ever since the accident, had disappeared with the smoke in the room where his blindness had been cured, and, in the end, after all that had happened, that was all that truly mattered to both of them.
fin