Black Spots

Part of an AU where Sam lost his eyes pre-series. This segment pertains to Dean's deal in Season 3 as a part of the episode Mystery Spot.

Warning: A little gorier than usual.

An obnoxious song blasted out from the clock radio, and Sam groaned, fumbling with his hand to shut the alarm off and unable to find the button.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam opened his eyes. And gasped. "Dean?" he tried.

"Huh, Sam?"

"Am I still asleep?"

Dean trotted into Sam's view, running his fingers through sleep-tangled hair. "What are you talking about? We've talked about this, Sam, It's too early for existential stuff."

Sam blinked at Dean.

"I'm not a mind-reader, Sam. You . . . Wait. Can you see me?" Dean demanded, eyes zeroing in on Sam's.

"Um, apparently," Sam said faintly.

"Dude!" Dean came up close into Sam's personal space, man-handling his head and raising a finger in front of Sam's face. "Follow my finger."

"Follow my finger, jerk." Sam raised a finger of his own and got shoved into the bed for his rudeness.

"Do you think it's the mystery spot? The case? I mean, disappearance doesn't necessarily mean new eyes, but this is weird." Dean was up, striding over to where they had the information spread out for the case they were on.

"I'll say," Sam said dazedly, glancing around the room. The song was still playing in the background, and he shut the clock off. "I can see. Is this a dream?"

"What am I doing in your dream then?" Dean laughed. "Okay look, this has happened before, and it's always a supernatural occurrence. So our bust case is definitely not a bust."

"Yeah."

"Well, how 'bout breakfast, first? We'll figure things out from there."

The day passed normally—as normal as a day where Sam magically got his sight could be, at least.

"Maybe we shouldn't mess with the mystery spot," Dean suggested as they snuck inside the closed attraction. "What if you can keep your sight?"

"A guy is still missing because of it," Sam reminded him, drinking in the strange sights of tables glued to the ceiling and glowing paint. "Plus it's probably regional. Get out of the zone, lose my sight again."

"Well, we could stick around. Town's not too bad," Dean said casually.

Sam thought of Dean's deal and felt sick. "No. We have things to do," he said firmly.

"Maybe after . . ."

"Don't finish that sentence," Sam snarled. He pressed ahead into the next room, hunting for some explanation.

The owner of the place came out with a shotgun, and before Sam knew what was happening, his brother was full of holes, choking out his death on the floor.

"Dean, no no no it's too soon, you can't die yet, you can't—"

The alarm clock told Sam it was the heat of the moment, and Sam sat up, stunned.

As excited as Dean was in learning Sam could see, Sam couldn't bring himself to join in his brother's excitement. He had just watched Dean die. Some strange form of a vision? It had felt so real.

Dean suggested they visit the mystery spot after dark and Sam blanched. "No, daytime! When it's bright, and crowded."

Dean raised an eyebrow but laughed. "Okay dude, fine."

And then Dean was hit by a car.

It didn't take Sam long to work out that he was stuck in some messed up version of Groundhog Day, where every Tuesday Dean died no matter what Sam did, and each time he died, Sam woke up and had to live the whole thing over again.

Sam toyed with the idea that in the real world, he had managed to get Dean out of the deal but had ended up in hell himself instead, but the fact that he got to spend the day with Dean negated that theory.

Nothing he did worked. Dean kept dying.

It only clicked when Dean—for the fifty-third time—was cooing over his eyes that Sam went stock still. Maybe that was it. A lesson. All he had to do was give up his eyes, and Dean would stop dying.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he told Dean woodenly.

"Oookay," Dean grinned. "Need me to hold your hand?"

"No, just . . . don't worry about it, it's been a weird day."

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're at breakfast, the day's hardly started."

"Right." Sam edged upward from the booth, palming one of the serving knives. "I'll be right back."

"Freak," Dean shot at him affectionately.

Sam closeted himself in the bathroom and took a deep breath. As long as he didn't stab through his eye and into his brain, he should be okay. Hopefully.

It hurt. Enough that Sam couldn't quite stifle the pained yell that escaped. The pain had made his hand slip, and while the clear viscous fluid from his eye slid down one cheek, the edge of his eye was also bleeding.

Sam, with his one good eye, took stock of his shaking hand and the knife. One down, one to go.

Somehow it was worse, the second time. Sam suddenly thought of Shakespeare and giggled hysterically. "Out, vile jelly!" he whispered to himself.

"Sam?"

Sam nearly jabbed himself through the brainpan from the shock and quickly pulled the knife out, letting the pain in his head overwhelm him. Dean was here, it would all be okay.

"Sammy! What are you—let go of the knife, you can't . . ."

Strong fingers gripped Sam's wrist while the other hand peeled the knife out of Sam's shaking hand.

Dean cursed loudly as Sam stood there. It would be okay, Dean wouldn't die anymore.

"You're gonna be fine, I got out of the cycle," Sam explained.

"Sammy, you can't—" Dean's voice cut off at a sudden skidding sound, and there was a crash.

"Dean?" Sam asked, terrified.

He opened his eyes and the song was the same.

"Let me get this straight. You wake up with your eyesight and it's Tuesday. We go have our day, I die, and then you wake up and it's Tuesday again?"

Sam nodded dully, playing with the salt shaker.

"How do I die?"

Sam looked critically into Dean's eyes. "You still don't believe me. I can hear the tone of your voice."

"Yeah, well, sue me. How do I die?"

Sam closed his eyes, relishing the familiarity of blackness. "It changes. First time you were shot by the mystery spot owner. Hit by a car. Mauled by a dog. It changes."

"And you have to watch me," Dean said softly, and Sam opened his eyes.

"Yeah," he said dully.

"So someone who doesn't like you rather than someone who doesn't like me?"

Sam stilled, setting down the saltshaker. "I didn't think of that before."

"Hmm."

"I, uh . . . I cut out my eyes, just in case that was the reason. Didn't work."

Dean looked sick. "Don't try that again, please."

"I just . . ." Sam looked down at his congealed breakfast and swallowed. "I don't want to see you die again," he whispered, silently adding 'ever' in his own mind.

"We'll figure this out, Sammy. Just have to keep our eyes open for something that sticks out, okay?"

Sam swallowed and nodded. Dean offered him a grin and took a large mouthful of his breakfast.

Sam was sadly not surprised when he started choking.

It was only because Sam had his eyesight that Sam figured out who the Trickster was. Strawberry syrup instead of maple.

Sam didn't know why it was so easy to convince him to let Sam out of the loop, but when the Trickster snapped his fingers, he woke up and the song was different.

"Sam, what's going on?"

Sam could still see, and he practically giggled with relief. "Dean, it's over. I won't have to see you die anymore." He sprang up, drawing Dean into a quick hug and then ran around the room, gathering their things. "Let's get out of here."

"Okay man, but you gotta explain things better than that crazy Trickster did." Dean told Sam sternly.

"Uh huh." Sam looked around the room once more as Dean took the bags to the car, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. The Trickster hadn't said anything about Sam retaining his vision.

The sound of a gunshot stole Sam's breath, and he found his brother choking on blood, holding onto a gunshot wound.

"No no no no no," Sam threw himself down on the ground, gathering up Dean in his arms. "It's not Tuesday, you can't die, Dean, stay with me, please, don't leave, please."

He could see the light leaving Dean's eyes—he had always thought that was an expression, but a hundred Tuesdays had taught him that he was wrong—and Sam lost Dean. Permanently.

"Are you sure about this, Sam?"

Sam regarded Bobby coolly. "You said it's a way to summon the Trickster. Get what I want."

"The sacrifice you'll have to make . . ."

Sam waited until Bobby turned his back and stabbed him. "I can smell you. I know you're not Bobby," he hissed.

"Very good, Sam."

Sam turned to face the real Trickster as Bobby's body melted away. "I've been searching for you," he said softly.

"Oh I know. It's been entertaining, staying one step ahead of you. How are you enjoying your eyesight?"

"Give me my brother back," Sam said.

"That's it?" The Trickster smirked. "How 'bout both your eyes and your brother?"

"I don't care about my eyes, give me my brother back," Sam snarled.

"You haven't learned your lesson yet, have you? You're going to lose him anyway. And the way you survived, ripping through all of those hunts and killing . . . you won't be able to do that without your eyes. The demons of this world will get you yet, kid. You should leave well enough alone, Sam Winchester."

Sam didn't say anything, and the Trickster shrugged. "I'll give you this, Sam. You don't have long until your brother will be taken another time—if you want him to stay, you'll have to give up a lot of blood."

Sam froze, staring at him. "What do you mean?"

He grinned unrepentantly. "That's all you'll get from me, Sammy." He snapped his fingers, and Sam woke up.

He couldn't see anything.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?"

Sam heard his brother's voice for the first time in months and nearly sobbed with relief.

"Dean."

Sam didn't bother trying to explain what had happened, just hugged his brother and told him they needed to book it out of town.

And thought about the Trickster's words. Blood.

Sam would save Dean. No matter what.

A/N: anyone wanna impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge? (idk that quote always stuck out to me as inappopriately hilarious in a tragedy).

So, so very sorry, both for, well, the gore and for the long wait. The problem is that I can write these kinds of fics for episodes I know well and it's really easy. But I don't know S3 that well, since the first two seasons are the ones I tend to rewatch. So, yes, slow progress, but I hope you'll stick around.

Also, just a thought, I was thinking about doing a reader's-suggestion-reward fic set in the Unseen 'verse, where you guys give me short prompts and I write them? What do you think?