"Dean!"

Sam quickly let go of Marcia, not caring about her cries, not caring if or how she dropped to the floor. His only worry was for Dean.

"Dean?" he called out again, dropping to his own knees and wrapping his arms around his brother.

"Sammy," Dean got out, his voice hoarse. "Sammy…ah shit…" He ground the palms of his hands against his eyes. "Fuck!"

"Easy, easy," Sam tried soothing, holding Dean tighter, feeling useless. "What's happening, Dean? Can you see?" When Dean didn't reply, Sam pressed, "I thought the plan was to not break the anklet?"

"Yeah, well that was before her National Geographic crap," Dean ground out between gasping breaths.

Sensing movement behind him, Sam looked around, his eyes coming to rest on Marcia. She was on her hands and knees, reaching out in front of her, picking up beads. He quickly, but gently, eased away from Dean, leaving him lying on the floor, and moved to Marcia.

"Why weren't you supposed to take it off?" he questioned her, shoving her back, so that while she was still on her knees, her back was against the wall. He grabbed the beads she had gathered from her hands and held them up in front of her face. "Did the spell break with the anklet?"

And as she stared blankly at Sam, he saw the gray scars begin to appear on her eyes, returning her to the world of darkness. He ignored the tears that began to form and fall from her blind eyes and let go of her; he had gotten his answer.

Returning to Dean's side, he was horrified to see that his brother was not moving. "Dean? Dean?" he called, panicking, shaking his shoulder. Trying to calm his own racing pulse, he reached out and felt Dean's neck, needing to feel his brother's pulse. Finding it, he sighed and then, biting his bottom lip, he moved his fingers up to one of Dean's eyelids and gently lifted it. He was relieved to see the ugly gray scars beginning to disappear.

Feeling the beads still in his hand, Sam took a moment to look around the entryway and gathered the rest of the anklet's beads, making sure to look all over, even moving Marcia out of the way, and rolling Dean onto his side to make sure there weren't any beneath him. He didn't want to chance leaving a single bead behind.

He shoved the beads into his jeans' pocket and returned to confront Marcia, who was now sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall and crying openly. "What else did she tell you? How did this work?" he demanded.

"I… I soaked the anklet in some stuff…" she stammered, hating that she was unable to turn away from Sam's hard stare, even though she couldn't see it. "Some weird spices or something. Then…then I said the magic words."

"'The magic words'," Sam repeated, mocking. "Abracadabra? Hocus Pocus?"

"I told him that he had the most beautiful…" She didn't finish, finally dropping her head to her chest.

"Eyes," Sam finished. "Was there anything else? Any other stuff she gave you? Any other 'magic' words?" he asked.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No. I didn't think it would work. Who believes that stuff?"

"You do, now."

A low groan slipped from Dean's lips and Sam moved back to him. "Dean? You okay?" he asked.

"What the hell?" Dean's voice was raspy and pain-filled. He brought his hands up to his head and rubbed, trying to get rid of the intense headache.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Sam ordered. "Can you see?" There was hope in his voice.

He watched as Dean opened his eyes and then slammed them shut with a groan, covering them with his hands. Sam sucked in a breath, upset that the spell hadn't been reversed after all.

"Goddamn it's bright in here," Dean swore. "Turn off the fucking spotlight, will ya, Sammy?"

Relief flooded through Sam's veins as a big smile crossed his face. "It worked!" he shouted, unable to help himself as he hugged his brother tight.

"Hey, hey! Hands off!" Dean shouted shoving Sam away from him, and then whispered, "And not so loud," as he put his hands to his head again.

"Come on, lets get out of here." Sam grabbed one of Dean's arms and pulled him up off the floor. He held onto him until Dean got his bearings.

"I'm all right," Dean said. He spared a glance down at Marcia, who was still sitting on the floor. "Magic spells, voodoo…all that shit," he told her, "it all comes with a price. If you don't pay it, somebody else does. Either way, someone always gets hurt." Then he knelt down next to her and grabbed her chin, looking into her scarred eyes. He wanted to make sure he had her attention. "I find out you do this again, to anyone, and I'll personally introduce you to one of those demons you saw in my memories." There was no mistaking the threat in his voice. No mistaking the seriousness of his tone. Dean would follow through.

Standing up too quickly, wanting to get away from the woman, had Dean dizzy and slumping against the wall. Sam was there just as quickly, grabbing onto Dean's shoulders, making sure he didn't fall. Sam grabbed Dean's left arm, hooked it around his own shoulder and led him out of the house, to the Impala.

The drive was quiet as Sam drove them back to the Bed & Breakfast, their only conversation being Sam's telling Dean to take the Tylenol he'd put into his hand.

As they pulled into B&B's small parking lot, Dean put his hand on Sam's arm. "I don't want to stay here, Sammy. I want to get out of this town. Away from her and all her friends."

Sam nodded, agreeing. "Stay here. I'll go get our stuff and tell Mrs. Watkins we're leaving; check out."

Dean watched Sam head to the old house. It was exactly how he'd seen it in Marcia's visual memories. Right down to the two women on the rockers Sam stopped to talk to: Mrs. Watkins and Linda Jean. The women rose from their rockers. Sam went into the house and Dean saw the women coming his way. He quickly donned his sunglasses. He was sure that word of Marcia losing her sight again would soon be around the small town. He didn't need them to know that he'd gotten his sight back at the same time.

"Dean?" Mrs. Watkins called, nearing the car. "Sam said you're leaving already. You boys haven't even been here a full day."

"Sorry, Mrs. Watkins," Dean answered her, turning her way. "Something came up."

"Yes, that's what Sam said. I'm still sorry you're leaving, though. You never got to do anything here in town. There's going to be a carnival on the Ball Flats over the weekend."

"Oh, Emma," Linda Jean chided. "You're just upset that you're losing customers. Two very good looking customers." To Dean, she said, conspiratorially, "She was hoping you boys would just sit on her porch each afternoon; hoping eye candy like you two would attract a few more customers."

"Linda Jean!"

Dean was smiling, though. "Kinda like when the manger of Hooters sends his waitresses outside for their breaks," he joked.

Both women laughed with him. Sam returned to the car and put their stuff into the back seat of the car. "Again, I'm sorry, Mrs. Watkins," he told her with a sad smile. "I put the room key on the front desk."

"Thanks, Sam," she replied. "You two boys take care. Come back some time," she added as Sam got into the driver's seat.

After they cleared the parking lot and crossed the bridge, Dean took off his sunglasses. He reached over Sam and turned on the dome light of the car. Then he turned the rearview mirror towards himself. Looking closely at his eyes, making sure for himself that they were the way they were supposed to be, he let out a sigh and slumped back into the passenger seat.

Sam readjusted the mirror and looked at Dean before turning off the light. He thought about asking Dean if he was okay, thought better of it. "So where to?" he asked, instead.

"I don't know. Anywhere. Nowhere."

"How about the mountains? Somewhere with nice views?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Definitely. Hell, just us, in a tent, in the middle of the woods or something."

Sam looked over at Dean, surprised at the seriousness in his voice.

"I think I'm going to need a break from the eye candy diet for a bit," Dean replied to Sam's raised eyebrow look.

Sam smiled and pushed down on the accelerator, heading north, to the mountains.

Dean picked pushed the play button on the tape player and put the volume up as loud as his headache would tolerate.