Note: Okay, this is something I've been working on for AGES, and it's finally done! I finished it late in last night and crawled into bed at 1am, oops. I have to credit my friend Carys who is like my beta reader on these things, so thanks dude, you really help. She motivates me but doesn't push me if I'm tired and can't think of how to write, so she's great. Anyway, so FINALLY, here is this AU fic I have been working on. Enjoy and please review!

Name: Standing Our Ground

Theme: Pre-series, Blind!Sam AU (without a Guide Dog!)

Words: 4909

Sam's classroom buzzed with chatter as his classmates started on the problems written on the board. He wished they wouldn't talk so much; he hated having to ask Catherine to repeat things. Well, he also wished he could actually read the board himself but that wasn't going to happen.

Sam had been blinded for 3 years now, since that accident on the hunt. Everyone could blame each other, but really it was Sam's fault. He was meant to be keeping a look out for the Wendigo out the window of the cabin, in case their dad failed in the hunt and it followed him home. Dean had been backup, waiting in the woods just out from their temporary home.

But the monster had slipped past both John and Dean and homed in on the bright light in the window of the cabin, where Sam was doing his homework, not focusing on the hunt. It had crashed through the door with a growl and immediately gone for him, who had been defenceless. The Wendigo had snapped his arm as easily as a twig and Sam had screamed, closing his eyes against the terrible sight and fate of being clawed to death by a terrifying monster.

He had waited for the next blow, but it had never came; instead the sounds of a fight filled the room and then there was heat and a yell of "die in hell, you son of a bitch," which could only come from Dean. Then Sam had been grabbed and almost dragged out of the cabin, which began to viciously burn with the monster dying inside of it.

The nightmare ride to the closest hospital that had followed while his dad shouted at his brother about paying more attention as Sam cowered in the back seat, curled up in a corner with eyes tight shut, trying not to cry out loud as he cradled his broken arm was just as frightening, in a different way...

"Sam, are you listening?"

Catherine's voice cut like a knife through Sam's thoughts, and he shook his head slightly and focused his attention towards the classroom learning assistance that sat with him to read.

"Uh... yeah." He cleared his throat and sat up a little better, turning his head to sightlessly scan the classroom, as he was so used to doing. "Yeah, I'm here."

There was a pause of paper rustling and the class' continued chatter, and then Catherine began explaining the task set by the subject teacher.

Half an hour later, the struggling of keeping up with what was happening in the classroom and listening to Catherine was finally at an end, at least for that lesson.

Sam sighed as he clumsily stood up, hearing the sound of chairs being pushed back all around the room as the students began to hurry out.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sam," he heard Catherine say, and he nodded in reply and felt her brush past him as she hurried out.

She was a nice lady, and was patient with him in classes, but had no time to help him around the school, leaving what was probably the hardest bit of the day up to Sam.

So with a sigh, he reached under the table carefully, trying to avoid hitting his head, and picked up his bag and guide cane. Opening out the stick, he put it on the ground in front of him and shouldered his bag, steeling himself to take on the task of walking alone.

He stepped forward, gently moving the cane from left to right across the floor. In this fashion, he located the door and exited the classroom, walking slowly with the cane held out in front of him.

Eventually he got to the canteen, walking close to the walls to feel through the guide cane where the corners were, and trying to ignore the loud atmosphere of the school. Taking the closest seat to the door that he could, Sam sat down with a sigh and put his bag and folded up cane under the table.

The canteen was probably the cleanest and plain place in the school; it was almost clinically clean – and Sam had been in enough hospitals to know what that was like.

After the Wendigo incident, it was bad enough that he was hurt and Dean had been burned, but when they drew up outside the ER, John had told them firmly to go in themselves and sort themselves out. He had to go and finish up the hunt.

Dean had gotten out without a word, and turned around to open Sam's door and help him out. Of course his brother had already noticed that he currently could not seem to move independently, although Dean didn't yet know why.

He had kept an arm around Sam's shoulders from the not broken side, trying not to cause Sam any more pain. Dean had led them both into the hospital and gone to the reception desk, immediately telling a tragic story about a forest walk and trees and falling.

The nurse whisked them away from each other in a second, despite Dean's protests, and Sam was put in a side room with a doctor who touched him and asked too many questions. He curled himself up on the exam bed and refused again and again to open his eyes.

Eventually they sent for Dean, who had already been treated with some cream and given some to take away. But even under his brother's caring voice and hands, Sam did little more than whisper where it hurt.

The doctors quickly x-rayed and plastered Sam's broken arm; fortunately it was a clean break, which meant no surgery. They left the two brothers alone in an exam room while the plaster dried, and they had sat there in a comfortable silence.

But John had strode in and eyed the both of them before ordering them out. They were healthy enough to carry on. The three hunters easily slipped out of the hospital and into their parked car, and they had continued on, motel-bound. But the next nightmare was soon to begin.

Sam was once again in the day jolted out of his thoughts, this time by the sound of nearby laughter. It was a school, so amusement between friends wasn't unexpected, but Sam recognised those voices, and they filled him with sudden fear.

Sure enough, he heard them come closer, clearly having spotted him sitting alone, unprotected. Defenceless, like that night with the monster.

"Well, Simon, looks like midget showed up again today." The first bully, Trevor by name, sat down opposite Sam. He could feel their legs almost touching and he hummed with tension, scared of what they planned to do.

Taking a breath, Sam forced himself to calm down. There was only about ten minutes until Dean would be here. Surely, they couldn't do very much to him in that time? Even these dim-witted idiots knew better than to mess with Sam's older brother.

Simon, Trevor's sidekick, assumingly grinned back, saying with a sneer in his voice, "yep – just after we told him not to come." There was a sigh and snigger from another bully.

"What an idiot," the third member muttered, probably with a smirk. As far as Sam could tell, that one's name was Harry.

The two other boys in the gang were called Ginger and Zoro – clearly nicknames. Neither spoke a lot; they just laughed in the background and acted as look outs, so Sam couldn't tell to two other voices apart.

"Unfortunately for you, freak," Simon began in a false 'unfortunate' tone, "you're not going to be able to walk around much more."

Harry added, "because we're going to break your legs soon."

Ginger, Zoro and Trevor laughed at him in unison. All enjoying their daily ritual of bullying the kid who couldn't really defend himself.

"Of course, that's if you tell on us," Trevor pointed out thoughtfully, and someone kicked Sam's legs from under the table.

Sam did his best not to react, barely flinching. He's had a lot worse. Both physically and emotionally. But there was something particularly damaging about bullying at schools.

Something that was somehow worse than the usual shouting and scolding and disappointment from John. Like the kind he got after that hunting accident.

It had taken days before John and Dean really realised they had a proper problem. John tried physically forcing Sam to open his eyes, to threatening things that he might even do.

Dean had stayed as calm as possible, but had become panicked as he wondered how bad Sam was hurt. Even Dean began to get bothered by a week, so he dragged Sam to a clinic instead of school one day.

From there it was to a trauma referral centre, all under Dean's secrets – their dad knew nothing of his boys' lack of education, and didn't care either. He was busy on the new hunt, already.

At the new place, they soon confirmed that through the trauma the hunt had brought, Sam had been blinded by himself. They hesitated when Dean demanded to know whether Sam would be able to see.

The answer, of course, was no. Not even now, three years later.

Someone suddenly punched him in the face. As he couldn't see the punch coming – though he might have been able to sense it, had he been concentrating – the result was shock and more pain.

As he tried not to whimper while he rubbed at his nose and tasted as well as felt smooth blood on his tongue and hands, he heard the laughter of all the torturous boys.

"Good one, Si," one of them sniggered, and there was the slap of a high-five as they congratulated themselves on hitting someone who couldn't see them coming.

Swallowing and trying not to gag on the taste of blood in his mouth, Sam straightened up, trying to focus. He could tell that Simon was still sitting opposite him; evidently that was why he had been the one to punch.

Sam assumed that the others were positioned around the table, in various positions to hurt him or run away or keep look out.

"Hey, watch out, blindy," Trevor suddenly said loudly, and something kicked his legs again and then Sam felt them take his guide cane. A favourite game of theirs.

In rising panic, Sam stood up as the cane was wrenched fully out of his tight grasp. "Give that back!" he yelled at the boys, trying to glare but not knowing what he was looking at.

The result was more laughter, and he sensed the bullies withdraw, assumingly with his cane. In desperation, Sam lunged out with a punch. It actually connected with someone, but his hand was immediately grabbed.

Whoever had his wrist twisted it, and Sam couldn't help crying out. "Freak," the person – Simon, Sam could tell by voice – hissed at him, very close.

But then there was a scuffle and urgent whispers and Sam's hand was let go and he was shoved backwards, sitting down hard into the plastic canteen chair that he was sitting at before.

His cane was thrown on top of him and the bullies laughed and jeered at him even as they hurried away.

Sam hastily organised himself – bag on the table, ready to go, sitting properly, guide cane in hand to use. He could tell Dean was coming, if the boys had run away. Like the wimpy dumbasses they were.

Sure enough, Sam sensed someone near him and looked up, assumingly at Dean, and tried to smile.

"Hi, Sammy," Dean replied to his little brother's silent greeting, and took the seat opposite, studying Sam's expression.

Despite the strained smile, Sam clearly was upset and rather angry about something, but trying to control himself. And not going to tell Dean voluntarily then.

The elder Winchester sighed and stood back up. The sooner they got back to that crap motel room, the better, and the more Sam could feel safer.

"Come on, then, sasquatch," Dean announced, and Sam echoed his movements by getting up and standing, waiting for Dean to take the lead.

Sure enough, as he always did, Dean slowly took Sam's arm as he shouldered his bag on the other side. They headed out the canteen and away from the school.

Under Dean's care and acting as Sam's eyes, the younger Winchester felt the safest he had all day, as he always did. His big brother was careful in his guiding, having had years of experience – not just in general, but with Sam.

This meant that he was very in tune with his little brother's needs for knowing what was in sight. He would tell Sam when there was a step, and when they were approaching a big group of people.

This allowed Sam to steel himself for the approaching obstacle, and reduced the surprise of maybe almost tripping up, or suddenly going slowly with people either side.

As a result, he could relax much more than any other time of day, and by the time Dean had gently helped him up the stairs to their motel room, Sam felt better already.

Dean deposited his brother on the worn couch once in the room, and Sam heard his heading over to the kitchen area, and the clangs of a metal spoon and pan as Dean decided what to make for a small dinner.

"Pasta okay?" Dean called over to his brother. Sam shrugged in reply, which Dean took for a 'whatever'. He sighed at Sam's lack of enthusiasm at the simple question and began cooking the pasta and a sauce to go with it.

While Dean made their dinner – because who knew when John would be back – Sam felt through the paper in his bag for the homework that Catherine had given him.

Thanks to her, he had Braille to feel instead of having to ask Dean to read him the instructions, therefore making him more independent with school work. Dean wasn't really bothered with his own schoolwork, but this way he could get on with other things while Sam did his work.

Carefully, Sam felt along the dots that made letters and words, murmuring what it said to himself, almost without knowing it. Saying it out loud helped him to put the sentence together easier.

The work was mostly simple; he was to read a passage of the book they were studying – which was in Braille for Sam – and prepare a comment to announce to the class next lesson.

Sam doubted that he would be called on to share his comment, but he decided to do the work anyway, for something to do before dinner. He always tried to make a point of doing the work, to show he was more than capable.

As the pasta boiled, Dean watched his little brother, sitting on the couch with paper in hand, moving his fingers along the Braille lines and mouthing and muttering the words to himself, nodding as he reached the end of each sentence.

Dean sighed, stirring the sauce, and considered Sam's attitude in school. He was generally scared of walking around, and who could blame the kid. Middle schools were nothing easy, and even worse when you couldn't see.

More importantly, it was clear to Dean that his little brother was getting bullied. Tactfully, he hadn't mentioned anything about the badly wiped away blood under Sam's nose when they had met, but it meant that someone had punched him.

Unless he had walked into something, but Sam was quite carefully in walking around and navigating, and he knew the school, so he was an unlikely candidate for such an accident to result in a bloody nose.

Unfortunately Dean didn't really know how to approach the problem with Sam. He knew that Sam would not voluntarily tell him, as he didn't like to be looked after through everything, and he of course knew that Dean would get mad if he knew about the bullying.

Well, yes, Dean was mad, but he was more concerned and resigned. He wasn't sure how to really help Sam in a way that his independent little brother would accept.

The room was filled with a companionable silence as the brothers got on with their after school activities. Sam working as well as he could, the determined school boy that he was, and Dean making them both some dinner to eat together.

Ten minutes later, Dean served up the pasta with cheese sauce – because it was one of Sam's favourite dishes – and called to his brother.

"Sam, dinner's ready. Your favourite, although you didn't seem bothered," Dean announced, deliberately adding the last bit to see a smile on Sam's face.

Sure enough, as his brother got up and felt his short way towards their small table, Sam couldn't help a small smile. He felt for the seat and sat down, listening to Dean sitting opposite him.

"Eat it up, sasquatch, you need to grow," Dean told Sam, making sure a teasing tone came through in his voice, as Sam couldn't go by facial expressions. Sure enough, the kid's smile widened at his brother's usual antics, and he stuck his tongue out at Dean as he felt for his fork and took a bite of the pasta.

"Nice," he informed Dean, who rolled his eyes and gave an overly dramatic sigh so Sam could tell what he was doing. In response, Sam gave his big brother a look, not able to keep the smile off his face.

They ate in their companionable almost-silence save for the sounds of the street outside. The view would be pretty nice, as they were on the third floor, if it wasn't for the skyscrapers all around in the city.

Dean had told his dad that it would be easier for Sam if they were on the ground floor, but as usual, John hadn't listened. He had just booked them a room, ran through the rules, and left them to go off on the hunt.

Turning his gaze from the window back to his brother, Dean decided to breach the topic that he had been thinking about since he had picked Sam up from the school.

"Anything happen while you were waiting for me, Sammy?" Dean asked casually, watching Sam's reaction. Sure enough, the kid immediately looked up with a nervous expression.

"Not really," he replied after a tensioned second. Dean gave him a very disbelieving look and Sam sighed as if he knew the way his big brother was looking at him.

Sighing, Dean returned his gaze to the food he suddenly didn't feel like eating. Sam slowly stirred the pasta around the bowl without thinking, waiting for his brother's reaction that was surely coming.

And Dean decided that he had to deal with this and help his brother however he could. "Look, Sam, I know you're getting bullied – there's even blood still on your face," he pointed out.

Immediately Sam reached a hand up and hastily tried to wipe the dried blood away, without success. Giving up on that, his dropped his arm and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Dean, you can't take this one on yourself. They're just bullies. Happens to everyone," Sam replied as reasonably as he could, through wishing that someone could help him.

There was another short silence and the clink of forks on bowls as the brothers ate their pasta thoughtfully.

"I should get you one of those blind dogs," Dean said suddenly.

"Guide dogs," Sam corrected with a smile. Dean smiled back.

"Yeah, a seeing-eye dog. That would help."

Sam sighed, returning to slowly eating his dinner. "Yeah, it would," he agreed.

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm not finished, Sammy," he informed his brother, smirking when Sam rolled his eyes in that little-kid way.

"Look, I'm serious here, listen," he continued, putting down his fork to show how serious he was. Sam looked up, raising an eyebrow in expectation.

"I can walk you to classes and around. Easily. You know that I don't particularly care about school; leaving class early isn't going to bother anyone."

Dean waited apprehensively for Sam's reaction. Either the kid would throw a bit of a bitch-fit over his independence, or he'd quietly reject Dean's offer, or he might accept after all this time.

Initially, Sam hesitated. He really didn't want to put Dean out, but he was surprised that his over-protective older brother wasn't ranting about the bullies. Instead, he was offering to help in a very practical way.

It was the exact help and encouragement Sam needed. He knew that Dean would let him walk on his own, despite that he knew what was going on. He knew that because, well, that's what Dean had been doing for the past few weeks.

So, all in all, it really was time to accept his brother's help. Sam sighed and looked up at his brother, who was probably waiting in tension for Sam's denial.

"Would you do that? Because it would be a great help, Dean," Sam replied quietly.

It was definitely not the reply that Dean had been expecting. "Of course I would, Sam. You know I will help in any way I can, but I won't force you," he said seriously.

Sam nodded. "That's why I can accept your help."

A smile spread across Dean's face. "You got it, Sammy," he murmured, and Sam shared his smile and the boys finished their dinner in a calm peace for the next day's plans.

Dean walked towards Sam's first class of the day, said brother slightly behind him, feeling around with the guide cane.

Being suitably respectful, Dean had accepted Sam's point of not wanting Dean to guide him, because of the way that could seem to the passers-by. It hadn't occurred to Sam that if they saw the guide cane in his hand, they would easily realise what the brothers were doing.

So Dean had respected his brother's decision to walk alone, following Dean to class. It meant his heels getting continually hit with Sam's guide cane as he felt his way following, but it was worth it.

They got to the classroom nice and early, as Dean had promised. "Here you go, Sammy. Have a nice hour; I'll be right here when you come out," Dean announced, and winked at his brother although he knew that Sam couldn't see it. He could still tell somehow.

"Yeah, okay." Sam felt for the door and began to push it open so he could get a seat before the others in the class filled the room. Dean began to walk away, calling a goodbye as he went, but Sam called him back.

"Dean, wait. Thank you for this. Really," Sam told his brother sincerely. Dean nodded with a smile.

"Thanks for letting me help you, kiddo," he replied, and he meant it. Sam smiled back, sensing Dean's expression and sincerity, and raised a hand in goodbye as he heard his brother walk away.

Taking a breath, Sam entered his class on his own, but feeling much stronger than he usually did. He carefully took a seat, and not five minutes later the rest of the class came chattering in, filling the room.

He heard the seat beside him being drawn back and someone sit down, and Catherine said, "good morning, Sam. Was that your brother with your earlier?"

Surprised, Sam stared at the direction of the seat beside him. "Yeah, it was. He's going to, uh, help me around a bit. He's a bit over-protective sometimes," he added hastily, not wanting Catherine to think that he wasn't capable of walking around alone.

"He seems the type. He's helping you in the right way; respecting your wishes. He seems like a great big brother," she replied warmly, and Sam could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yes," he sighed, giving her a small smile back. "He is a great big brother."

An hour later, lesson was over. Catherine gave Sam a quick goodbye and left, and as usual, Sam waited until the room had mostly emptied before attempting to get up, extend the guide cane and feel his way to the door.

"Nice class, Sammy?" Dean's voice asked as soon as Sam walked out of the room. He immediately felt relaxed, because Dean was there and he didn't need to worry about getting around or sitting in the canteen any more.

Sam shrugged. "S'alright," he replied, and briefly hesitated as he felt Dean waiting for him. Making up his mind, he picked his cane up from the ground and held out his arm. "Want to take me down?" he asked.

A smile spread across Dean's face. He completely respected his little brother's wishes, and if Sam was letting him help, then he was taking that opportunity.

"Thought you'd never ask," Dean replied, taking his brother's arm and carefully and quickly lead them to the canteen, where they could spend break together until Sam's next class.

With his guide cane held off the ground in his other hand, Sam felt it was very clear what they were doing. He didn't feel less independent, and he didn't feel vulnerable like he usually did. He felt strong.

Dean dropped Sam's arm when they were at a seat, and he felt for the chair before sitting down, hearing Dean doing the same opposite him and sensing his big brother's gaze on him.

"Hey, d'you mind if I go get some chocolate for us? Breakfast wasn't great, was it," Dean asked. Sam shrugged.

"Sure, go ahead. Thanks, Dean." At his brother's confirmation, Dean nodded and got up, heading to the food area.

"Back in two minutes," he called over his shoulder. Sam briefly waved goodbye before sighing and leaning on a hand, waiting.

Then he heard a sound that made his stomach turn – the sound of that laughter that meant bullying wasn't far behind.

Grabbing his guide cane and bag, Sam pressed himself up against the wall he was leaning against and sightlessly scanned the canteen. He could hear the bullies laughing, but it didn't seem they had seen him.

And then Sam heard what he dreaded.

"Hey Si, check it out. Freak came back!" Trevor's voice shouted over to the others. They all joined in the laughter as they walked over to Sam, sitting alone.

But for once, Sam had seriously had enough. He felt stronger today, and he stood up as he heard the bullies approach, glaring in the direction of their footsteps.

"Hi freak," one of them sneered, and Sam felt more than heard a punch coming his way. He dodged it.

That caused a slight disturbance in the bullies; suddenly the cards were turned – the kid they had so liberally harassed and hurt now didn't seem so vulnerable.

"Oh, piss off," Sam said in disgust, dismissing the bullies with a wave of his hand as if they were no more than flies, and sitting back down.

There was a slightly shocked silence, then Trevor shook himself out of the surprise and practically growled, furious at being stood up to.

"Listen here you-" he began, but didn't get to finish. The bullies all froze as they heard someone walk up behind them, and they all turned around slowly like in a horror film.

All the strength and dangerous calmness of Dean Winchester faced them. He raised an eyebrow. "Can we help you young men?" he asked in a voice of suppressed black anger.

Trevor stuttered a "n-no" and Simon managed a "we were just leaving" and they all ran away like the assholes they were.

Dean smirked and sat down opposite Sam, who gave him an uncertain smile. "Do you think they'll just come back when you're not here?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

To Sam's surprise, Dean started to chuckle. "No, Sammy, they're gone. Real shame you couldn't see the look on their faces when you dodged that punch and told them to 'piss off'. Priceless," he praised, and gave his brother a friendly hit on the shoulder.

Rather stunned, Sam stared at Dean. "You mean, you let me face them?" he asked in surprise. He didn't wait for his brother to reply as a smile spread across his face. "Thank you, Dean," he said sincerely.

Dean nodded. He understood that Sam understood how hard it was to just watch his blind little brother face against a load of bullies. But he respected Sam and his rights, and he was so right to do so.

The way Sam had dealt with those bullies on his own was amazing. The strength that he got just from Dean's help had meant that he could stand up on his own to the boys who had made his school time so hard going.

It was pretty incredible. And Dean could not be prouder of his little brother, who, though blind, was by no means less by his lost ability. It was just one little thing in all the power that was Sam.

"Sammy, you know, we are good. Together." Dean leant forward in his chair leaning on the table, and dropped the chocolate bar from his pocket on it.

Hearing that, Sam smirked and felt for it and opened it, offering his brother the first piece, finding a new calmness that wasn't there before.

"Of course we are," he replied, and paused. "Jerk."

Dean smiled and accepted the chocolate. "Bitch."