Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. I am just borrowing them for fun. At least, it's fun for me. Maybe Dean will eventually get some pie, who knows?

AU, set early in the series. One-shot for now.

A/N: I always told myself that I wasn't going to do this, but here we are. I probably put more of myself in this story than almost anything else I've written - I gave Dean my own disability. And yes, I chafe at calling it a disability too.

Sometimes Sam forgot that Dean was blind in one eye. Sure, his brother tended to cock his head to one side, always insisted that Sam stand by his left shoulder when they were walking together, and demanded that they sit on the right side of the theater, but these were things you could easily chalk up to eccentricity, not disability. Sam knew it had taken Dean a long time to learn to drive, but you'd never know it now. Once he had mastered the skill, his brother had excelled at it. And if the man hated to parallel park the Impala or ease her into tight parking spaces, no one thought much about it. Classic car owners tended to be overprotective of their babies.

In Dean's mind, Sam knew, he saw himself as able-bodied; calling Dean visually-impaired, or worse, disabled, was likely to land you a right cross. But there were some things that even the most capable one-eyed person would find challenging, not that his brother would ever admit it. These were the rare times hunting when Sam was uncomfortably reminded of Dean's limitations.

This hunt - like most - had started out smoothly before going pear-shaped. It wasn't until the last few minutes - when Sam had tossed the disposable lighter into the grave and Dean had fixed him with a relaxed smile - that everything had gone to hell. Despite his brother's constant head-swiveling as he scanned the old farmhouse for threats, the spirit of a vengeful child had managed to attack on Dean's blind side, barreling into his jean-clad legs at thigh level before going up in a burst of smoke and flame. Dean had hit the ground hard enough to see stars, a fact that Sam learned about only because his concussed brother was too dizzy and disoriented to realize that he was babbling out loud.

Sam knew that anything that potentially affected Dean's remaining eye could trigger severe anxiety in his older brother. He'd been gentle when tending the gash on Dean's left cheek, a clean cut that thankfully didn't require stitches. Back at the motel, he'd helped his brother out of his outerwear, gathered his toiletries for him, and let Dean have the first shower. But now that Dean was freshly washed and clad in a clean T-shirt and sweats, he'd turned away and curled up in silence. Cradling his swollen left temple in a pack of ice, Dean stared dully at the television and refused to engage in even the simplest of conversations, despite Sam's best efforts to draw him out. Sam had even tried his puppy dog eyes. No dice.

After enduring half an hour of silent treatment, the younger brother glanced at the clock on the nightstand and tried a different tactic. "You want me to get some dinner?"

Dean shrugged. He readjusted the ice pack; Sam caught a slight wince.

"Is your headache worse? I really should check -"

"'m fine." His brother's tone brooked no argument.

"Your eye okay?" Sam ventured, sitting on the other bed with his arms folded, tapping his foot nervously.

Dean removed the ice from the left side of his face. His good eye was practically swollen shut, but that didn't stop him from pinning Sam down with a glare and a frown. "Just peachy," he snapped.

"Dean -"

His brother held up a hand. "We are not talking about this." He rolled over and closed his eyes.

Sam unknotted himself and began to pace. "We should get you checked out, Dean."

"'m fine. Just a concussion. You know the drill." Dean refused to look at him. "Wake me up in an hour."

Sure, that's fine for a fully-sighted Winchester, thought Sam. But you're not fully- sighted, are you, Dean? You have to take care of your remaining eye. It took every ounce of self-control Sam possessed not to say the words out loud.

He thought about how his father would have handled the situation. John was worse than Dean about denying anything he didn't want to see. Dad would have checked Dean over for a concussion, but he would likely have moved them on to the next hunt before his brother had any time to recover. Knowing Dad, he might even conveniently forget that Dean's blind in one eye. Sam suppressed a snort.

Dean rolled over and glared at him. "Thought you were getting dinner."

Sam smiled; at least Dean had initiated conversation. "I am. What do you want?" He stood and added the dirty flannel button down back over his dust-stained long-sleeved T-shirt. He hoped he didn't smell too bad. He hadn't had time to shower yet, not with worrying over Dean.

His brother shrugged. "No girly food. Cheeseburger?"

Sam didn't try to push a salad on him like he so often did. If Dean thought he could choke down a burger without throwing it up, Sam would bring him one. Maybe even include a slice of pie. "Back soon." He placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder as he walked by.

And stopped mid-stride. Sam turned around, worry crinkling his wide forehead. "Dude, you okay? You're shaking."

"F-fine," Dean muttered, clenching his jaw in a effort to stop his teeth from chattering. "Ice is making me c-cold."

Sam took the bag of ice from him and felt his heart twist. He wasn't convinced that the chill was the culprit. "Maybe we should order in." A diner sat directly across the parking lot; Sam could be out and back in fifteen minutes, he was sure of it. Is that too long to leave him? He chewed his lip and studied his brother. The older man was curled into a tight ball. Sam could detect his trembling even through the tangle of bedding. "Let me get you another blanket."

"Sam." He heard the warning tone, Dean's personal reproach to let him know that he had stepped into his personal space one too many times.

Sam ignored his brother and pulled the worn gold bedspread from the other narrow bed. "Here." He tucked the blanket around his brother.

"Go away." Sam barely heard the muttered phrase because Dean had thrown a pillow over his head. If he ignored his brother's words, focusing solely on the tone, he could practically touch Dean's fear. Fear for his sight, fear of abandonment. Not for the first time, Sam wished he'd kept in better contact with his brother after he'd left for Stanford. He'd been so angry at their father - and everything that the man had represented - that he'd just walked away, not realizing that he'd unfairly lumped his brother into Dad's mess. When Sam had attended Al-Anon to support Jess when her brother had entered rehab, he'd unexpectedly learned something about himself. In the highly dysfunctional Winchester family, Sam had been shoved into the role of the black sheep as much as Dean had been forced into the position of the good child, the family peace-keeper. It wasn't Dean's fault any more than it was Sam's.

Sam sat down on Dean's bed and massaged his shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean." A shudder rolled through his brother's body and Sam could have sworn he heard a sniff from beneath the pillow. "I'll find some place that'll deliver, but you might be stuck with pizza tonight." He could feel his brother tense again, but Sam persisted. "Relax, Dean. I'm here. It's okay. You're going to be all right."