Edge, Part 1

Pre-series setting, post-Sam being blinded.

The first time Dean had gotten drunk off of cheap beer on his sixteenth birthday, Sam could remember him being goofy, affectionate, and altogether ridiculous. Sam had picked up quite a bit of ammo to use for brotherly teasing after that night.

A happy drunk. That's what Dean was.

Key word, was.

"C'mon, Dean. You should go to bed." Sam felt across the table towards the place he had heard the 'chink' of glass on wood until his fingertips touched the bottle. He reached, but the glass slid away, and he heard Dean take another pull from the bottle. "What are you drinking?" he asked.

"None of your business," Dean growled. "Go away, Sammy."

"No." Sam nervously considered lunging for the bottle, but chances were he would go for the wrong hand. "Stop drinking, Dean."

"You're not Dad. Don' tell me whatta do," Dean slurred.

"I'll tell Dad," Sam threatened. It was the wrong move.

"Like I care. I'll drink when I want," Dean said pugnaciously.

Sam slumped down against the table, allowing himself one second of self-pity as he let his head thunk against the table. If he could only see, and . . .

"What's wrong, Dean?" he asked softly.

Dean snorted. "What's wrong? Try what isn't wrong."

"Yeah?" Sam prompted.

"Let Sammy get blinded. The look on his face, I couldn't . . ." Dean hiccuped. Sam felt like crying.

"Dean, that wasn't your fault," he tried.

"Sam'll never get to see again, 'cuz of me. Won't get to see any girl he kisses, won't get to see sunsets. Not even a friggin' rainbow."

"Shut up," Sam cried desperately. "Just shut up!"

There was a pause, and Sam hoped Dean was really looking at him.

"Sammy?"

Sam reached out and found the bottle, pulling the liquor away from his brother's lax hand. "You need to go to sleep, okay?" he said, unable to cover up the quaver in his voice. "Please, Dean."

"Kay, Sammy." Sam heard Dean's ungainly shuffle as he got to his feet, and eased himself around the table in search of his brother. Dean's arm, sloppy with drunkenness, landed across his shoulders.

"C'mon," Sam said, tugging Dean in the direction of the bed. Approximately ten steps to reach it. Sam had counted, earlier.

"Sammy. You can't see," Dean mumbled.

Sam bit his lip. "Yeah, Dean."

"Do you miss it?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam lied.

Sam's knees finally hit the mattress, and he manhandled Dean around to get him at least partly on the bed. Tugging at Dean's arms, he thought he got Dean's feet on the bed as well, though he wasn't sure.

"C'mere, Sammy." Sam heard a sound like the bed being patted and hesitantly started towards the noise. He yelped as Dean grabbed him and yanked him down. "Slowpoke."

"Jerk," Sam returned.

Dean pulled him close with an arm around his waist. "I'm so sorry, Sammy."

"It wasn't your fault," Sam whispered, but Dean was already out.

Sam hadn't prayed since the Hunt, but as he curled up in Dean's arms, he found himself pleading. "Just don't let Dean fall," he whispered. "Not because of me. Please. I'll do anything."

A/N:TBC