Season Two

Episode Seven: Shades of Gray

By Thru Terry's Eyes

Part Two

“Are you okay? 'Cause if you aren’t, for God’s sake say so --" Dean began in a slightly panicked voice.

“No! No, I’m alright…” Sam carefully rubbed his eyes and opened them again blinking. “I keep seeing these…after images, I guess." Sam ended with a pained grunt, covering his face with his hands. “Man, my eyes burn…”

“Dude, don’t scare me like that!” Dean put down the items he was holding. “You just need these drops and you’ll feel better. Lie back.” He pushed on Sam’s arm.

Sam resisted. “Can I at least go to the bathroom first?" he groaned, grimacing.

“Oh,” Dean replied. “Sorry.” He assisted Sam to his feet and would have accompanied him but Sam shook him off.

“I got it, Dean. I’m blind, not helpless.”

He didn’t realize how the words sounded and couldn’t see the look they put on Dean’s face, but the darkness surrounding Dean grew darker still and began to writhe madly about him as Sam felt his way in the direction of the bathroom.

Dean’s mouth tightened as he watched Sam feeling the walls and he closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He sank down on the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his forehead with both hands. It hurt him to watch Sam feeling his way through the room; every glimpse of Sam's red skin and scrunched up eyes as he tried to focus was like a physical blow.

The thought that Sam might be like this--or some version of this, not totally helpless but incapable of retaining his former freedom—was almost too much too contemplate and Dean twisted internally at the thought of his own carelessness being the cause of it.

* * * *

Sam automatically flipped on the lights as he walked into the bathroom, then bit back a cry as the light blasted his eyes. Covering his eyes with his hand, he fumbled the lights off again.

“Crap!” he gasped, feeling tears run down his face as his eyes watered. He made a face, blinking, the blurry, shadowed darkness he had been seeing now replaced with an aurora borealis of white spots and shimmers.

As they gradually faded, he leaned close to the mirror and tried to see his reflection but his nose bumped the glass and he could see nothing but indistinct light and darks, two black holes where his eyes should have reflected.

He couldn’t imagine going through life like this, even though common sense told him it was a real possibility. This flat, colorless, unfamiliar world was frightening. He knew there were thousands of individuals whose vision was many times worse than his or non-existent.

He knew that he could learn to function like this, but the idea that he would only see indistinct shadows… never really see another sunrise, his brother’s smile, or even his own face clearly again… was almost worse than the thought of being totally blind. This way he would always harbor the hope that his vision would return and suffer the renewed disappointment every time he opened his eyes and the blurred grayness was all there ever was. At least totally blind he might be able to accept it and move on.

He made a disgusted noise and wiped his face, pressing his fingers between his eyebrows, the brief exposure to the harsh bath lights starting a headache slicing through his skull right behind his eye sockets.

“Damn,” he muttered. This was not going to be fun.

* * * *

Dean jumped up when the door opened and Sam came out, hands fluttering in front of him in search of the indistinct objects he could just make out, to keep from falling over them. He glanced at Dean as he made his way back to the bed and sat down.

“There,” Sam said with a false sense of satisfaction. “Not so hard.” He frowned as he looked up at Dean, almost enveloped in a haze of darkness.

“Why do you keep looking at me so weird?” Dean exclaimed, more harshly than he meant to. He grabbed the bottle of drops.

“I’m sorry,” Sam replied, surprised by Dean’s sharp question and distracted by the cause of it. He lay back and allowed Dean to administer the drops. “I don’t mean to.”

Dean sighed, delicately opening Sam’s eyes wider with the blunt tips of his fingers. Sam gasped as the icy drops stung his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. You can’t help it, I know that. I shouldn’t yell at you.” He dosed the other eye and handed Sam a tissue to blot the excess running down the side of his face. He lowered himself to the side of the bed. “So, how you feelin’ otherwise?”

The skin around Sam’s eyes was still red and swollen, his face scattered with small, half healing cuts. Dean almost couldn’t stand to look at him, feeling fresh guilt pour through him at his stupid recklessness. If I had just waited…

“Better, I think,” Sam replied. “The light really hurts. But at least I can make out shapes and stuff better.” He shifted on the bed. “How are you? What did the doctor say about you?”

Dean looked away, not that Sam could see him. “I’m fine, just a few cuts and stuff. No big deal.” He’d thrown up during the night, but Sam didn’t need to know that, and other than some sore muscles from his bash into the wall, he really did feel better. “Listen, I was gonna go get us some breakfast. You hungry?”

Sam took mental inventory and was surprised to find he was. Not starving but definitely hungry.
“Yeah, I am, kinda.”

The darkness surrounding Dean retreated somewhat as his face lit up with a smile. “Great! Whadaya want and I’ll go get it?” He stood and reached out to grab his jacket. He turned back to Sam expectantly, only to have the smile melt into a scowl. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Sam had pushed himself back up and was feeling over the top of the bedside table. “I’m going with you, what did you think? Where are those sunglasses?” he automatically looked around but unless they fell on him from the ceiling he would never find them.

“The hell you are!” Dean snapped. “Are you nuts? You can’t see!”

Sam frowned at him, Dean’s form becoming noticeably darker to his eyes. “Yes, I can.” In a lower voice, feeling on the bed for the glasses, “Just not very well right now.”

“No, Sam! Give it a few days,” Dean protested. “Wait 'til we go back for your appointment.” He stepped over to the dresser where the glasses lay and curled his hand over them. “What if something happens-"

Sam snorted and got to his feet, stretching a hand out. “Dean, I’m blind already, what could happen? Besides you’ll be there.” He fumbled over the end of the bed until he was rummaging in the duffel bag lying there. “Help me find some clothes and let’s go.”

When Dean didn’t move Sam stared up at the swirling blackness where he was standing, more disturbed by what he could see than what he couldn’t. Everything was dead gray and black except the sparkling red dots that popped around Dean like tiny camera flashes. He looked away, bothered by the bizarre “after images.”

“Dean, I can’t hide in here until my eyes are better, that could take a while, I may as well get used to getting around like this for the time being.” Sam dropped his bag in frustration, “Are you gonna help me with my clothes or am I going out with whatever I can find? I’d hate to have you be seen with someone wearing mismatched clothes.”

Dean sighed again and shook his head. He didn’t like this, but even blind Sam was stubborn as hell. Dean just didn’t have it in him to carry on the argument, especially as the cold thought settled over him that Sam might really have to get used to this. He wiped his hand over his face.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

So saying he went over to the bag and jerked out a shirt and some jeans and socks for Sam. “Here,” he said, thrusting them into Sam’s hands. “Can you dress yourself or do I need to fasten your jeans for you?”

* * * *

They had driven the short distance downtown but Dean couldn’t find a close parking spot to the diner so they had to park two blocks away. Since it was Saturday there were quite a lot of people around.

Exiting the car, there had been a brief skirmish when Dean tried to take Sam’s arm to pull him, but Sam had insisted on holding Dean’s elbow, allowing himself to be led. Dean had to admit it worked pretty well that way, even though Sam walked with less confidence than usual, head down slightly, eyes covered by the wrap-around sunglasses. People tended to move out of their way when they spotted Sam, a fact that was both annoying and helpful. Dean knew it was stupid and illogical to be offended because passersby were identifying Sam as blind. He was blind, but it pissed him off nonetheless.

“You doin” okay?” Dean asked nervously, trying to keep his eyes out for anything that might trip Sam up.

“Yeah, Dean, I’m fine,” Sam replied. There was very little conversation going on around them as they walked. Most of the words exchanged seemed to be impatient and unpleasant.

“Why do I feel like everyone is mad about something?” Sam asked quietly. He kept his eyes down. Every time he looked up the twisting shadows would appear around the people they walked past and it was becoming more and more disconcerting.

Dean nodded, “I know.” He had been noticing almost everyone was scowling. “It’s like everyone’s dog just died.”

He watched as a girl almost blundered into another woman with an armload of sacks. Instead of the usual laugh and, “Sorry about that,” he would have expected, the girl had snarled “Watch where you’re going!” and shoved past the woman, who had responded with a heart warming, “Screw you!”

“Man,” Dean commented, “friendly place they have here.” Grateful they had made it to the diner, he opened the door and walked in.

Despite being fairly full, there wasn’t a word of conversation going on. No sound at all but the clink of dishes and cutlery and a few sullen words from the waitress as she took an order.

Dean paused in the entry, looking around. The room crackled with negative energy and Dean almost turned around and walked back out. Sam waited patiently on his arm.

“Sit anywhere!” The waitress spat as she walked past, ignoring Dean’s offered smile.

Dean blinked. “Good morning to you to,” he murmured, guiding Sam to an empty booth. The eyes of every patron followed them.

Two menus were slapped down and water spilled on the table as two glasses banged down next to the menus.

“Coffee?” the waitress barked, grimacing at them, her nametag was on upside down but Dean made out her name to be Danielle.

Dean nodded. Anything to make her leave.

“Sounds like you made an impression,” Sam commented.

Sam leaned back in the booth, looking around them. The tension in the air was so solid he felt like he would see it if he squinted just right. He could certainly feel it.

He was surprised that with the sunglasses he had more clarity than without, they filtered out the excess light and made differentiating his surroundings easier. Still dull grays and shadows, but better.

“You want me to order for you?” Dean asked, thumbing open the menu.

“Just order whatever you’re having.” Sam watched in puzzlement as several dark forms moved across his limited vision and vanished among the various diners scattered through the restaurant.

Dean and Sam both jerked back as two cups of coffee hit the table, not quite thrown there, but almost.

“You ready to order?” The frazzled looking waitress snapped, holding her pad.

“You the only waitress?”’ Dean asked conversationally, noting he hadn’t seen anyone else waiting tables.

She shoved straggles of hair behind her ear. “I’m it, sweetheart. That other bitch didn’t show up today so if I won’t work for you, I guess you better go someplace else.” And I wish you would, came through very clearly.

“No,” Dean hastened to reply. “You just seemed a little overworked, that’s all.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she growled, “So are you gonna order or what? I can’t stand here all day.”

“Two specials, I guess,” Dean responded out of desperation.

She scribbled it down and jerked the menus out of his hand, stalking away.

Dean looked over at Sam. “Did I say anything to piss her off?”

Sam was frowning, feeling uncomfortable. “I think she was pissed off before you got here. Along with everyone else, apparently.” He reached under the glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“You all right?” Dean asked, leaning forward.

“Dean, stop asking me that. I’ll tell you if I’m not, okay?”

Dean frowned, but he shut up. He couldn’t keep his hands still, feeling very on edge but not exactly sure why. He began restlessly tapping his knife on the table until Sam fumbled a hand over it to stop him.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. “You seem kinda jumpy.”

“The atmosphere in here is freaking me out,” Dean confessed candidly. “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He looked around at the other sullen patrons.

“Here!” Danielle said, slapping their plates down gracelessly. “You need anything else?” Daring them.

“No, we’re good.” Dean replied. He grabbed her wrist as she turned. “What’s the deal with everyone?” he asked warily. “Why’s everyone so pissed?”

Her look should have killed him on the spot and it certainly made him release her wrist.

“If you got a problem take it up with the manager!” She stomped away, responding to the gestures of a heavy set man at another booth.

Sam followed her hazy progress, a growing darkness stretching along behind her like some bizarre kind of elastic smear. As she reached the other booth her shadow was joined by another one that slithered from the man seated there.

Growing increasingly uneasy himself in the tense mood of the diner, he glanced down at the blotchy gray items on his plate. He could identify some of it by shape but appetizing it was not.

“Does this actually look like what I’m seeing?” he asked weakly, lifting the glasses for a better look. Not an improvement.

A crash turned everyone’s heads in the direction of Danielle and the male customer who was standing now with her arm gripped in his fist. His plate was broken on the floor, food splattered everywhere.

“I said this isn’t what I ordered!” he yelled, pulling her forward.

“I said I was sorry!” she yelled back. “I’ll get it fixed!” She didn’t cower back even though the man towered over her and weighed three times what she did, but got right in his face.

“I have to get to work! I don’t have time now!” he jerked her again.

“So what do you want me to do about it?” She hollered.

Dean was out of the booth and half way across the room before the sound of the slap the man laid across her face had died away. She fell sideways into the booth and slid to the floor, blood trickling form the corner of her mouth.

“Hey!” Dean barked. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sam yanked off the sunglasses, staring as shadows converged on Dean and the angry customer like swirling black curtains broken only by the eerie red dots. They came from every corner of the room and even slid in through the door. Not being able to see clearly made the menace of that encroaching darkness even worse.

“Dean!” he called out. Dean ignored him.

As Dean approached, the man jerked a gun out of his jacket and pointed it at Dean and then in a general sweeping threat to everyone in the diner. “Stay back!”

Dean stopped dead, his fury over the treatment of the waitress held in momentary check by the sight of the weapon in the man’s shaking hands. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Take it easy!”

“Stay away from me. I’ve had it with everyone pushing me around! Just stay back!” The man’s sweating face twisted in a grimace, his eyes puzzled, but his actions obvious.

The waitress struggled to her feet and faster than Dean could move, the man shot her point blank in the chest, sending her flying backwards. Screams erupted throughout the restaurant as the blast echoed around the walls.

Totally out of control, the man continued to fire, raining bullets randomly throughout the room. Shattering the front window in an explosion of glass.

Dean turned, making a frantic dive for Sam as the gun went off, managing to throw his brother sideways in the booth as a shell plowed into the wall where Sam had been sitting.

“Are you okay?” Dean cried, lying across Sam.

“Yeah, I’m okay-“ Sam replied. And then Dean was up.

“Dean!!” Sam yelled as Dean charged across the short distance between him and the shooter who was pointing the gun straight at Dean, finger spasming on the trigger, but getting only empty clicks. Blackness gathered around the two men so thickly, both were virtually obscured.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean shouted, tackling the man. “You almost killed my brother!”

Unable to make out what was going on, Sam floundered out of the booth, trying to get through the people fleeing the diner, stumbling and falling as he was hit from the side.

“Dean!! Stop!” Sam exclaimed, literally crawling to where the roiling cloud hid his brother.

Sirens began to sound in the distance. Sam clawed at the blurry form on top, pulling on the muscular arms he knew without seeing. He knew what those arms were doing. Dean was strangling the man beneath him.

“Dean, let go!!! You’re killing him!!” Sam tugged fruitlessly at Dean’s arms.

“Good!” Dean snarled, tightening his grip.

Sam heaved with all his might, hearing the object of Dean’s efforts choking out his life. Suddenly overwhelmed with the desperate need to end this, Sam pulled back a fist and punched Dean in the side of the head. At least it felt like his head.

It wasn’t enough to knock Dean out, which wasn’t what Sam wanted, but it was enough to break Dean’s death grip. Sam pulled him bodily away, struggling to stand.

Dean staggered to his feet, holding a hand to his head. “Sam, what the hell?” he yelped in outrage.

“Dean, we gotta go! I can’t find the way out!” His sunglasses had been lost in the scuffle; all he could see around them was the cloudy blackness, almost vibrating with bits of red. Tires screeched as police cars roared up to the curb

Dean suddenly seemed to come to his senses and he grabbed Sam’s arm. “This way!” he did his best to guide Sam through the melee, into the kitchen and out the back door. Together they stumbled down the alley and into the next block.

“Stop, please-" Sam begged, doubling over with his hands over his eyes. The light was sending blasts of pain through his skull. “My eyes-"

Dean put an arm around Sam’s hunched shoulders. “C’mon Sam. Keep your eyes closed, we just need to get to the car. I’ll help you.”

Dean paused at the end of the next block making sure no one gathered at the diner was watching but all the attention seemed fixed on the diner and its inhabitants. A gurney was rushed in by two EMTs. Dean figured they were for Danielle, not knowing if anyone else had been hurt, with the possible exception of the man he had been trying so hard to choke for endangering Sam.

“Stand up straighter, Sam. We’re almost there; we don’t want to attract attention.”

Sam held himself as upright as he could but kept one hand cupped over his eyes as Dean led him to the car and helped him slide inside.

“I told you, you shoulda stayed at the motel,” Dean grumbled as he got under the wheel.

* * * *

“Dean, something’s wrong here.” Sam said. He was sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees, holding an ice-filled towel over his eyes. Water was gathering in a small puddle between his boots as the ice melted and dripped from a corner of the towel. A bottle of pain killers stood open on the bedside table along with a half empty glass of water. The TV was on with the sound down low.

Dean came out of the bathroom carrying Sam’s medicine. “Tell me about it,” he replied. “That guy was a damned psycho. He almost killed you, Sam.” Dean plunked down on the other bed. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked for what seemed the millionth time since the diner.

Sam dropped the towel between his knees and squinted at Dean. “Dean, for the last time, I’m fine. What the hell happened to you back there?”

Sam could almost hear Dean’s brows draw together in confusion. “Me? Whadaya mean me? I know you can’t see for shit right now, but that wasn’t me that damn near got shot!” He threw the med bottle on the bed and got to his feet pacing across the room, a hand hooked around his neck.

“No," Sam said quietly, “but it was you choking that guy to death.” Sam’s face turned in Dean’s direction. “You can’t tell me that felt right. His gun was empty, you got him down, why did you try to kill him?”

Dean opened his mouth to retort but closed it again, looking back at Sam. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes dulling to remembrance of that moment, when it had suddenly escalated from a sudden, random act of crude stupidity to a life and death moment. He remembered throwing himself at Sam to shove him out of harms way, the sound and sight of the bullet hitting the wall where Sam had been sitting…

Everything after that was a blur of mad fury until Sam had pried him off the other man. It was like he’d gone insane. He couldn’t help himself.

And no, it hadn’t felt right, even though at the moment, it had felt…right.

“Dean?” Sam said, cocking his head.

Dean glanced at Sam’s burned features, his eyes barely open, trying to see, a sick feeling running through him. He turned away.

Sam went cold as the air around where Dean stood grew darker and began to circle around him.

“Dean, this isn’t your fault,” he said, taking a not-so-random shot in the dark. “It was an accident that happened because of whatever was on that corpse, not because of something you did. How could you have known?”

Dean stiffened, shooting a look back at Sam. “Sam, I should have stopped and checked it out. I shouldn’t have rushed it-" Dean turned away again.

Sam got to his feet and moved toward where he knew Dean was standing but unable to judge the distance. His stretched out hand hit Dean’s shoulder, causing him to jerk back around. The twisting shapes around Dean retreated once again at Sam’s touch. Sam’s hand worked its way to Dean’s chest and pressed there.

"This,” Sam said, gesturing to his eyes with his other hand, “is not your fault. Despite what you think, every time something happens to me, it’s not your fault. No matter how hard you try, Dean, you can’t control everything that happens in our lives. Not your life and not my life.”

Dean was actually grateful Sam couldn’t make out his features in that moment as he stepped away from Sam’s touch. “Sure, Sam, whatever…”

Sam pulled back with a gasp as the gray shadow that suddenly slid over Dean’s face and upper body lunged out at him, the fiery red spots so near he could actually see them as sharply as broken scarlet glass.

Sam stumbled back with a cry, falling onto the bed.

Dean lurched forward, unsuccessfully trying to catch him, his elbow hitting the sound button on the TV, raising the volume.

“Sam! What’s wrong?” The shadow hovered over Dean, pulsing larger and smaller, almost like it was…laughing.

Sam swallowed, breath shaking. “Dean…something’s really-" he broke off as he heard what the local news commentator was saying on the TV.

“What, Sam-"

“Sh!” Sam said, holding up his hand. “I want to hear this!”

"- and emergency crews responded earlier today to a shooting at a local restaurant. Witnesses say when an unidentified patron intervened in an altercation between a waitress and a customer. The customer, Joe Magnussen, pulled a gun, shot and critically wounded the waitress, Danielle Spencer, then began shooting wildly around the restaurant. One other person was injured, but was treated and released by emergency personnel.

Danielle Spencer was pronounced dead at the scene.

Police have no explanation from Magnussen as to what brought on the unexpected violence. He claims things suddenly got out of hand and has no idea why he was carrying a weapon in the first place. He was arrested on reckless endangerment, carrying a concealed weapon and assault with intent to kill charges and remains in custody at this time.

This is another act of random violence such as we have been experiencing over the last few weeks for which police and investigators have no explanation. Many citizens are reported to be carrying weapons and police state that this will only make the situation worse…"

“Dean, something weird is going on here,” Sam said in a slightly shaky voice.

Dean reached out and turned the sound back, sitting down next to Sam, looking from him to the TV. “I can tell that, Sam,” he said. “But why do I feel like you know more about it than I do? What the hell was that a second ago?”

Sam squinted at Dean for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Dean, I’m seeing things.” He rubbed a hand carefully over his eyes. “I have been since we left the hospital.”

Dean scowled. “You said it was after-images or something… Do you need to go back to the docs? 'Cause we-"

Sam shook his head. “No, I thought they were some kind of side-effect, but, I’m not so sure anymore. Everything I see is just grays, shadows… and it’s all blurry. But I can see these things clearly. I can see the red of their…"

“Their what, Sam? Tell me what you’re seeing.”

Sam made a frustrated noise, his hands jumping in his lap. “They’re like these shadows that are moving all the time. Dark and wispy, sometimes almost solid black. I saw them all around the people in the street this morning, hanging over everyone, moving around through them.”

Dean sat back slightly as Sam tried to describe what he was seeing.

“The thing is, they seemed to get thicker around the people who were angry or upset. Dean, in the diner, right before that guy pulled his gun, they were everywhere. Coming through the windows and walls, surrounding you and that guy. Like some kind of…I don’t know…storm cloud or something. The more out of hand it got, the more there were. I only managed to get through the people to pull you off that guy through dumb luck, it was all black around you both.”

Sam was getting worked up and Dean laid a calming hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? You think these shadows have something to do with what’s going on in town?”

“Dean, I can barely make you out when I look right at you. I couldn’t tell if what I was seeing was real, I’m still not sure.”

“What about the red shit? What’s that?” Dean demanded, trying to make sense of it.

“I think its eyes, Dean.” Sam replied. He shrugged his shoulder. "A second ago, the one around you lunged at me-“

“Around me?” Dean exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “What the hell? You mean they’re here in the room following us both?” He couldn’t help looking around in consternation. He saw nothing in the dim room.

Sam looked blankly up at Dean, watching the flickering red in the black mass around Dean contract and expand as it moved slowly over him. He shook his head.

“Not us, Dean. You. They’re following you.”

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The Winchester Chronicles