Unexpected Shadows

Part of an AU where Sam was blinded at the age of 13. Most everything remains the same.

It was a fear that stemmed from the first time he was taken, when he was about eleven and the creature John had been hunting was fond of eating children.

Funnily enough, after he had been blinded, he ended up finding cages not that scary anymore. Paradoxically, they were more comforting, than, say, waking up in a vast emptiness, where each tentative step forward could throw him into an abyss or into the arms of whatever evil had taken them.

That wasn't to say Sam loved cages, though, especially seeing as it usually meant he had to be rescued. Per usual. And he didn't really care to wake up in one without knowing why.

"Dean?"

"Are you stupid?"

Sam recoiled from the strange voice, surprisingly human for a captor.

"Who's there?" he snapped.

"We're gonna die anyway, why does that matter," the voice muttered.

"Why did you take me?" Sam asked strongly, trying to keep his voice from quivering.

"Why did I take you? Great, I'm holed in here with a crazy person."

Sam slowed his breathing down. "Wait, you're captured too?"

The man sighed exasperatedly. "No duh."

"I'm blind," Sam growled, now exploring the edges of his cage. "So forgive me if I can't tell you're in one as well."

"Oh." The voice was mollified and kind of repentant. Then it quickly switched to anger. "Great. No chance of getting out of here, now."

Sam ignored the insult and moved to the edge, teasing his fingers through the edge of the cage. "Where is here, anyway?"

"Those freaks are gonna eat us," the man muttered, ignoring Sam's question.

"What?" Sam began running through the list of things that ate people, which was quite extensive. Vampires, ghouls, some kind of zombie—

The creak of a door had Sam flinching backwards, inanely wishing Dean was with him.

"What is it?" he hissed.

"Them," the other replied darkly.

Sam waited on tenterhooks, but nothing happened.

"Hurry up, Dean," he murmured, even as his unfortunate companion swore and complained.

The people—not creatures—released the first man, only to shoot him. Sam huddled in the corner of his own cage, and time dragged onward. By the time Dean showed up, Sam figured he was about at a couple days, though he couldn't be sure.

That was when the people came back, dragging in someone or something else and dumping them in the cage next to him.

An hour passed.

"Sammy?"

"Dean!" Sam scooted forward and grabbed at the bars with his fingers, smiling for the first time in days. "Hey, man. What took so long, huh?"

Dean didn't respond to Sam's joking and instead touched his fingers. Dean's fingers were trembling, Sam noted worriedly.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"Sammy, we have to get you out of here, okay?"

"There's some kind of key, I think. I heard them use it," Sam quickly told him. He pressed his face against the edge of the cage and was gratified when Dean brushed the top of his head with his fingertips.

"I'll hurry back, Sam. You'll be fine, okay? I found you. We're okay."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam breathed.

"I have to find the keys. You jus—" Dean poked him. "—don't move."

"Like I have been," Sam huffed.

"Yeah."

Sam could tell Dean was reluctant to leave him, so he gave an exaggerated yawn and leaned back in the cage. Finally, Dean left. So Sam waited.

When he passed the five minute mark, Sam started panicking, despite the fact that the other person in the cage—a cop—woke up. Sam had explained everything to her, but it wasn't like it helped at all.

Then someone came in, and judging from the footsteps and the cop's gasp, it wasn't Dean.

"Get out."

"Why?"

Sam heard the creaking of his cage door and shrank back further.

"Now, or I'll blow your brains out."

Slowly, Sam turned, backing out instead of going head first, in case the man's plan was exactly what he said it was.

The brush of the barrel at the back of his skull made Sam freeze.

"So long, kid."

Sam had long since come to the conclusion that the bad guys shouldn't talk. Or telegraph their moves. Before he was done talking, Sam had ducked down and thrust a kick backwards, hitting the man in the stomach. He quickly spun, grabbing the rifle and pointing it away. Their struggle became more heated, and Sam found himself behind the man, hands on the back of the man's head and his chin.

Sam wasn't sure when he decided to do it, but he did it.

Sam killed him. Broke his neck. He stood in shock, for a second, unable to process.

"Hey, let me out," the cop hissed, and Sam numbly began a search for the keys.

"I killed him," he said hollowly, and he could practically feel the sharp look of the cop.

"You had to."

Sam sucked in a breath. "Yeah. Um, we need to help Dean."

"Let's go."

The second Dean was free, he was checking Sam over, terrified. He had sent the man after Sam. He had chosen as civilian over his brother, and deep down he wasn't sure why. Dean could tell himself it was because he thought Sam might be able to get an advantage, but really he had just been fulfilling his duty as a hunter.

What kind of brother was he?

"Dean, relax, I'm okay." Sam pushed away his searching hands and rolled his head, clearly irritated. "You're the one who's banged up."

"How can you tell that?" Dean incredulously asked.

"You're breathing funny. That's what you do when you're in pain," Sam snapped. "So let's get out of here, and we can take care of you."

Dean looked over Sam one more time, only seeing slight effects of nutritional and sleep deprivation. Sam was also acting antsy, though having been in a cage for three days could do that to you.

He slung a casual arm (the non-burned one) around Sam's shoulders, guiding him out of the property and nodding to the cop once before leaving. She had taken out most of the other crazies, which Dean was grateful for.

"Where's the Impala?"

Dean grimaced. "Back in town."

Sam slumped. "Walking?"

"Yup."

"You have any food?"

"Sorry, little brother."

They walked in silence for some time, before Sam seemed to shudder.

"Sam?" Dean checked.

"I need to . . ." Sam trailed off and veered off the edge of the road, towards the forest.

"Hey, Sam, where do you think you're—" Dean began, but then Sam had found a tree to lean against and was puking his guts up. Though, after three days of no food, it amounted to bile, which Dean knew from experience was very uncomfortable. "Aw, Sam." Dean tried to put a hand on Sam's shoulder, but he was flung off.

"Is this about the cage?" Dean tried, once Sam seemed to have overcome. "I know you don't like—"

Sam shook his head violently. "Leave it, Dean."

Dean frowned. "Yeah, as if I'll leave that alone. You don't throw up when you have nothing in your stomach."

"I said leave it!" Sam snarled, loud and obviously in some kind of . . . well, fragile state. Or something. Dean backed off. For now.

He had killed someone. Not a monster, a human. Every time Dean touched him, Sam wanted to scream, to tell him he was being contaminated, he had to get away.

Dean obviously wanted to know what was wrong, but thankfully didn't say anything, at least until they got back to the motel.

Sam focused on what was really important. "Where are you hurt?"

"Dude, it's nothing, don't worry about it."

Sam scowled. "Don't make me feel you up, man."

Dean heaved a put-upon sigh. "Got a burn on my arm. And just a bloody nose. Promise, that's it."

Sam was already moving, finally in a place where he could walk without fear of falling into a pothole, collecting the first aid kit and grabbing a washcloth.

"Bathroom, now."

"Bossy," Dean muttered, but Sam heard him follow.

Sam had killed someone.

Sam pushed his hands under the warm water, washing them quickly and efficiently and then getting the washcloth wet as well.

"Hold still."

"Man, my forehead's not busted, what do you think you're doing?"

"Shut up." Sam moved the washcloth lower, Dean swearing when he reached a swollen nose.

"Easy, easy," Sam crooned, quickly making sure his nose wasn't broken before Dean directed him to the burn. Funny, that Dean would let a murderer clean his wounds. Sam had killed someone. Sam pushed down the urge to throw up again and applied the burn ointment.

"Alright, enough pretending you're a doctor, let's see how you're doing, huh?"

Sam groaned. "C'mon, man, I just wanna sleep."

"You aren't looking so great. Did they feed you?" Dean asked sharply.

"No," Sam responded sullenly. "I'm not hungry."

"Don't lie," Dean scolded absently. Sam heard him get up and go into the room. Reluctantly, Sam followed.

"Dean, I want to shower."

"First you want to sleep, now you want to shower. Make up your mind."

"I need to wash it off," Sam muttered.

"Wash what off?"

"The blood," Sam replied before he thought. He stiffened at his unintentional reveal.

Dean burst into an impassioned speech about Sam hiding injuries, even as he descended on Sam, checking him again. Sam pushed him away.

"Not mine."

"Not yours." Dean was probably staring at him in bafflement. "Then whose?"

It was now or never. "The man."

"Adjectives, Sam."

Sam closed his eyelids, his own way of pretending there was something between him and Dean. "The man I killed."

Sam looked devastated, and Dean imagined he looked similar. Good thing Sam couldn't see him.

At Dean's silence, Sam turned away. "I'm going to take a shower." His voice was soft and broken, and ripped at Dean's heart.

"Hey."

Sam actually flinched at Dean's voice, which he never did. Dean sucked in a deep breath.

"Sam, it's okay."

"It's okay? Where does this even come close to okay?" Sam still wasn't facing Dean.

"The part where that creep was going to kill you and you had no choice? It wasn't even a fair fight, Sam, but you still beat him."

"That doesn't change the fact that I killed someone," Sam whispered.

"No, it doesn't." Dean paused. "But we kill monsters, Sam. And that's what that guy was."

"It's not that simple." Sam started to walk for the bathroom, forcing Dean to pull him back physically.

"Hey. Sammy. You did the right thing, okay?"

Sam's lip curled into a bitter smirk. "Yeah, my slate's clean. Sure."

"It is," Dean insisted.

"You don't get it, do you?" Sam pushed him away. Dean didn't answer. "Me, I have a few things that make me who I am. One of them was that I try and stay . . . well, not pure, but blameless at best. You like to make fun of me for being Jiminy Cricket. Well that was fine. Because it's one of the few things I can be. Now . . ." Sam trailed off.

"Sam," Dean murmured. "You are who you are. This doesn't change anything. Everybody has to do things that they don't like to do, and this was just a bad day."

Dean wasn't sure that Sam really was going to let it go, but his brother conceded with a tired and dubious "okay." Dean would take what he could get. For now, he had a little brother to take care of.

A/N: Unseen is back!

Longtime reader or newcomer, welcome! If you're confused, check out my fics and look in the descriptions if I mention "unseen". These don't have to be read in order, but the others will give you some idea of what's going on.

Be warned, updates will not be as consistent as it was previously, at least not until I've struggled past my midterm and papers due in the near future.

Please review! Thanks for reading :)