"Sam, wake up! C'mon, get up!"

The teen raised his head from his pillow groggily at the sound of his brother's frantic voice.

"What-" Sam began but Dean interrupted.

"No time," his sibling insisted, pressing his younger sibling's white cane into his hand, "We gotta go."

Sam sat up and ran his free hand over his face.

"Get up, Sam. C'mon!"

The younger sibling felt his brother grab the front of his t-shirt and pull him into a standing position.

"Where's Dad?" Sam asked as he began moving forward, Dean's heavy footfalls just ahead.

The teen heard the sound of the motel room's door creak open and he moved towards the sound.

"Wait," Sam paused, "Our stuff-"

"No time," Dean growled and grabbed Sam's arm, yanking him through the open door.

"Stop it!" Sam snapped angrily. He hated it when people touched him suddenly, when he couldn't see them.

"Dad's waiting for us," Dean told him dismissively.

Gritting his teeth, the teenager followed his brother across the sidewalk to where the Impala was idling. Dean climbed into the front seat beside their father and Sam took the back.

The vehicle was silent for a long moment except for its rumbling engine, and then John Winchester's voice spoke up from the driver's seat.

"Four and a half minutes."

"That's better than last-" Dean began but their father interrupted.

"That's not fast enough!"

"We would have been out sooner if Sammy had just done what I asked."

"You wouldn't tell me what was going on!" Sam snapped, angry that his sibling was throwing him under the bus.

"If it was an emergency and there was no time to explain the situation," John spoke up, "No one would be able to tell you what was happening."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean added, his tone slightly smug.

The teen crossed his arms over his chest moodily.

"What time is it? It feels too early to be out of bed?"

"It's three-thirty," Dean told him and Sam groaned.

"Why don't you close your eyes and stretch out?" Dean suggested, his tone softening, "Get some sleep."

Sam gave his brother a small smile did just that. Dropping his cane into the foot well of the backseat, he stretched out onto his side and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.

SPN

Dean smiled at his brother and turned back around in the passenger's seat.

"Are we really getting it today?" he whispered to his father.

John's lips turned up and his dark eyes crinkled, "Yeah, today would be a good day. An early birthday present, what do you think?"

Dean nodded, "Sammy's gonna love it."

SPN

John Winchester peered at his sleeping son through the rearview mirror.

Just like any father, he worried about his children, concerned about what would become of them once he was gone: had he taught them enough to survive in the world? To stay out of trouble? To take care of one another?

More than other father's John worried about his sons, Sam in particular. The boy was independent and stubborn, traits which had helped him adapt to life without sight but John knew that those same characteristics could end up getting him into hot water.

The one reality of their life that chilled John to the bone was that Sam would have no one if both he and Dean were gone.

A hunter could be killed any time, by any monster. Even a veteran could make a crucial mistake that would cost him his life.

The thought of Sam being left alone and defenseless terrified John more than he would dare to admit to anyone.

That was why he was so hard on the boy. That was why Dean felt he needed to be hard on his brother as well. Dean knew the risks of the hunting lifestyle and was completely on board with making sure Sam would be all right on his own if he ever had to be.

SPN

Sam woke up when the Impala's engine was cut. Sitting up, the teen asked where they were.

"McDonald's," Dean answered, "Dad's getting us some breakfast."

The teen nodded and turned his head to the left, leaning to that side until he felt the cool glass of the window against his forehead.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked from the front seat.

The boy didn't reply for a long moment.

"Yeah," he answered.

Before Dean could speak again, the driver's side door opened and John sat down.

Sam could hear the crinkle of a paper as his father opened the bag and began handing out the items inside.

"Dean," John spoke, "Sausage McMuffin, hash brown and apple juice."

"Sam."

The teen held his hands out.

"I thought pancakes would be a bit difficult to eat in the car," John told him and Sam felt a paper-wrapped breakfast sandwich in his hand, "Egg McMuffin."

Sam set the sandwich on the seat beside him.

"Hash brown."

This joined the sandwich.

"And orange juice."

"Thanks," Sam muttered.

"Need any help, Sammy?" Dean's voice asked.

Sam shook his head and carefully stabbed the straw his father had given him through the foil on top of the cup of juice. Taking a long sip of the liquid, the teen set it down on the seat, tucked against him tightly so it wouldn't tip and spill.

Picking up the hash brown, Sam pulled the greasy paper back and took a bite, careful as he ate to move the wrapping out of the way so he wouldn't eat it.

SPN

For nearly twelve years Sam had been blind. The boy, almost fourteen, had picked up an eye infection when he was just a toddler. Normally, eye infections, such as conjunctivitis, were easy to fix and left no permanent damage.

Unfortunately, at the time, John had left his sons alone in a seedy motel room while he had been working a case. Dean, at six years old, could do many things, but he could not stop a raging eye infection.

At first, it hadn't been too bad; Sammy, too young to tell his big brother what was wrong, had rubbed and rubbed and rubbed at his eyes all day, making them red, swollen and sore. Dean, had tried to help his sibling, putting a washcloth soaked in cold water on his brother's face and let him eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

The next day, Sammy's eyes were bright red, the lids so swollen he could barely close his eyes. Tears leaked continually from his eyes as he cried in pain.

By the third day, Sammy's eyes were leaking pus and the child had a high fever.

Dean had called John; desperate for help and knowing their father would be able to do something for his brother.

Upon John's return, he rushed with his sons to the emergency room but it was too late. The doctors had given the boy an antibiotic to treat the infection and its symptoms but they could do nothing to reverse the damage already done.

John always blamed himself for what had happened to his youngest son.

What if he hadn't picked that particular motel?

What if he had called his sons sooner to check in on them?

What if he'd asked more of the doctors instead of just accepting their word?

John never told Dean or Sam, but he felt it was his fault that his youngest son had gotten that eye infection all those years ago and now, almost twelve years later, he was still trying to make up for his mistake.

John hated that Sam was always left alone in the motel room when he and Dean went on hunts. He hated that his son always struggled in school because they never remained in any town or city long enough for the boy to have the proper support in class. John hated that Sam desperately wanted to help out on cases, even if it was only research, a task which was nearly impossible since many resources the Winchesters used were not available in Braille.

W

John munched on his breakfast sandwich and watched his youngest son slowly eat his hash brown. Sam stared straight ahead, his hazel eyes seeing nothing but darkness.

John thought about where they were going, what they were about to do and felt a lump form in his throat.

He was doing this for his son. He was doing this so his baby boy wouldn't have to feel so alone and useless anymore.

SPN

It was a long drive, but Dean perked up instantly as soon as they passed a sign announcing they were entering the town of Blue River, in upstate New York. It was nearly two-thirty in the afternoon and all three Winchesters were becoming anxious and antsy.

"We're almost there, Sammy," Dean told his brother happily.

Sam frowned, "Where? Aren't we chasing another monster?"

Dean grimaced. He hoped he hadn't just ruined the surprise.

"Not today, Sam," John replied.

Dean smiled at the look of confusion that crossed his brother's face.

"Don't worry, Sammy," he told his sibling, "You like where we're going, I promise."

SPN

Ten minutes later, the Impala pulled off the main road and slowed, gravel crunching under the tires and pinging off the undercarriage.

The farm looked like something you would see in a brochure promoting tourism. The barn was large and red with a weathervane perched on top. The house that looked as though it had been built in the 1800s backed onto a wooded area. A paddock on the far side of the house held two horses cropping at the spring grass.

John pulled up beside an old, mud-splattered pickup truck and turned off the engine.

"We're here," he told his sons and Dean exited the vehicle quickly, taking a deep breath.

Sam opened his door slowly and remained seated, the tip of his cane against the mat at the bottom of the foot well.

"Where are we?"

"A farm, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, neither boy had ever been to a real farm before. Dean vaguely remembered his mother taking him to petting zoo before Sammy was born but was as close as he'd ever been to an actual farm or farm animals.

"Why?" the teen asked.

"Sam," John said, "Trust us, okay?"

The boy sighed and stood, gravel crunching beneath his sneakers.

"Sammy," Dean's voice came from right beside the teen and he nodded, knowing exactly what his sibling wanted.

He felt his brother take his elbow and they walked forward, Sam using his cane to orientate himself to where he was and Dean guiding him in the right direction.

John went ahead of his sons and stepped up onto the low porch that wrapped all around the house. The wood had been painted recently and the house looked clean and welcoming, friendly. A couple of chairs sat on the porch in invitation.

Opening the screen door, John knocked loudly on the wooden interior door, its window covered by a lace curtain from the inside.

There was no response for a moment and John lifted his fist to knock again.

The door opened a plump, ruddy-faced woman wearing blue jeans and a man's plaid button-up shirt appeared.

"John Winchester!" she announced in a pleasantly husky voice, "I was wondering when I'd see you! We had such a nice chat on the phone last week!"

"Ruth," the hunter smiled, "These are my sons, Dean and Sam."

"Of course they are," Ruth said and stepped forward, shaking Dean's hand and touching Sam's not holding the cane, to let him know what she intended, before shaking his as well.

"Your father's told me so much about you and I just knew I had to help out," she told the boys, "I knew just what I could do too."

"But that's enough for now," Ruth commented, "Come inside."

The Winchesters followed the woman inside, Dean grinning from ear to ear, Sam grimacing in confusion and John with a pleased expression on his face.

"Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, lemonade?"

"We're okay, Ruth," John told her as they followed her into the living room and sat down on a floral patterned couch.

"Well, I'll suppose you want to meet him?" Ruth asked, looking right at Sam.

"Meet who?" the teen asked.

"We didn't tell Sam why came," John informed the woman, "We wanted it to be a surprise."

"Oh," Ruth exclaimed but than smiled.

"Who are you?" Sam asked suddenly.

"Sam," Dean reprimanded; his brother knew better than to be rude like that.

"I mean, how do you know our Dad?" Sam asked instead.

"I met your father about five years ago," Ruth explained, "He killed a Black Dog that had killed some of my horses and mauled a stable hand."

"Your father brought you here today because he knew I could help you."

Sam frowned, "I don't need help."

"Sam," Dean gently elbowed his brother in the side.

"You may as well say it, Ruth," John told the woman.

"Sam," she once again focused on the youngest Winchester, "As well as breeding horses, I also raise guide dogs for the blind. I've been doing it for nearly twenty years. John thought you would like to have a guide dog of your own, to help make things easier for you."

"I don't need a guide dog," Sam argued, his expression turning from one of confusion to one of anger.

"I don't need help," he insisted.

"Sammy," Dean tried but his brother interrupted.

"No! Dean, you and Dad always assume! Don't say you weren't because I know better! You thought I needed a company when you go away and I don't! I'm fine on my own!"

"Sam," John said in a warning tone.

"At least meet the dog," Dean suggested, "You might change your mind."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," John told the woman, "He can be stubborn."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Sam growled, "I'm blind, not deaf."

"Well, why don't I bring Gabe in and you can decide if you want him or not?" Ruth suggested and John nodded.

When the woman left the room, the father turned to his youngest son:

"You are getting a guide dog," John hissed, "Whether you like it or not. This is not a choice."

Sam turned his body away from his father, towards his brother and Dean eased away from him, a disappointed expression on his face.

The sound of claws on wood sounded and Dean looked up to see a young yellow Labrador wearing a lime green harness entering the room.

"This is Gabriel," Ruth said with a smile, "He's eighteen months old. He's a very good boy."

The dog, with a creamy coat that was slightly darker on its ears, and large brown eyes, walked up to the Winchesters, sniffing and wagging its tail.

Dean and John both reached down to pat the dog but Sam refused.

"I don't need a guide dog," he repeated.

"Pet him, Sammy," Dean encouraged, "He's cute."

"No," the teen growled and stood, hurrying out of the living room.

John half-stood, calling his son's name as they heard the screen door slam shut.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," the elder Winchester sat back down, "Sam will get used to him. He's just stubborn."

The dog, Gabriel, was leaning against the couch as Dean patted his head.

SPN

Anger surged through the teen's veins. He couldn't stay in his father and brother's presence. He could just imagine them looking at him with disapproving expressions. Standing up, the boy hurried away from his family before they could stop him, nearly walking into the wall as he did so trying to leave the living room. Striking any object in his way with more force than necessary, Sam plowed through the house towards the front door. In such a rush to leave the farmhouse though, Sam forgot about the porch steps and fell, landing on his hands and knees on the gravel driveway. For a long moment the teen remained where he was, pain stinging in his palms and in his legs before he stood up slowly, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, trying not to cry and failing.

He didn't want some dumb guide dog. He didn't need one. Why had his father and brother just assumed he'd like it? He had spent almost twelve years without one, so why did he need one now? He could get around on his own just fine with his cane.

Reaching out with his cane, Sam felt grass beneath its tip and moved forward. He didn't know where he knew where he was going and he didn't care. He just needed to stay away from his father and brother for a while.

The crunch and scrape of gravel gave way to the soft crush and swish of grass and still Sam continued forward using his cane to guide him.

To his left he could hear the soft neighing of the horses in the pasture and to his right came the rustling of leaves from the woods bordering the farm.

W

As Sam moved farther and farther away from the house, towards the woods, he did not see a pair of golden eyes peering out at him from the trees, watching him with keen interest.

SPN

"Is Sam all right out there on his own?" Ruth asked John concernedly.

"Yeah," the father answered, "Knowing him he's probably just blowing off some steam."

The woman nodded but didn't look relieved.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"There's been some cougar sightings in the area the past few weeks," Ruth commented, "That's all."

Dean and John frowned.

The younger Winchester peered at his father.

"It's daytime," Dean said, sounding as though he were looking for assurance from John, "And cougars don't usually attack people, right?"

John shook his head, "Unless they're desperate, like most wild animals. Too sick or injured to take down their normal prey."

The boy relaxed somewhat and the conversation turned back to the matter at hand.

SPN

The cougar waited patiently, silently as the teen moved closer and closer to its hiding place.

Normally the big cat wouldn't go after a human, but it had been a lean few months and it was very hungry.

Besides, the cougar knew something was different about this human, the same way it could pick out the ill or lame deer in the herd and know it would have an easy meal.

The boy stopped about a dozen feet away from the woods and just stood where he was.

The cougar knew this was its only chance at filling its belly before evening fell and crept forward out of the trees.

SPN

Sam paused, sighing.

He knew he shouldn't be mad at his Dad and brother. They were only trying to help him. He knew that.

But to get him a guide dog without asking him first, that hadn't impressed him. They could have talked about it first.

With his free hand the teen reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The sound of a horse screaming caused Sam's head to snap up and turn towards the source of the noise seconds before something large and heavy hit him.

SPN

Dean drew his hand back quickly from the Labrador as the dog stood up and growled deep in its throat.

"Gabe?" Ruth asked and took a step towards the animal.

The dog wasn't even looking at her. It's brown eyes were narrowed, its pink lips drawn back to reveal sharp fangs.

Suddenly the animal leaped forward, past Ruth and bound out of the living room.

The three humans remained where they were for a moment, stunned by the dog's sudden aggression.

They heard the screen door slam shut and the dog's angry barking now that it was outside.

Dean was the first to move. He stood up and peered through the lacy curtains covering the window behind the couch.

"SAMMY!"

SPN

Sam landed heavily on his back, his cane flying from lax fingers. The stench of rotting meat and dirty fur invaded his nostrils as the animal's crushing weight pinned him to the ground.

He opened his mouth to call for help but no sound came out.

Confused and terrified, the teen struggled with the beast sitting atop him; hitting it with his fists and kicking desperately with his feet.

SPN

Dean, John and Ruth pelted out of the farmhouse after the Labrador to see the youngest Winchester held to the ground by a large cougar.

Barking and snapping, the Labrador did not hesitate and rushed towards the big cat.

SPN

Sam couldn't even hear the barking of the dog or the cries of fear from his family members. All he could hear was the thudding of the cougar's heart, smell its rancid breath as it lowered its head for the killing bite, feel its claws did into his skin.

Then suddenly it was gone.

Loud, angry barking replaced the pounding of the cat's heart the meaty smell of dog breath invaded the boy's nose, and a warm, slimy tongue lapped at his face.

Reaching out, Sam found the dog's neck and embraced the animal, tears of relief rolling down his face.

"Gabriel," the teen murmured and buried his cheek against the dog's warm fur, "Gabriel."

SPN

"I don't know what you did, Ruth, but you raised an amazing guide dog," John said from the front seat.

"I've never seen a dog do that before in my life," the woman admitted, "And I've had many guide dogs."

Sam wasn't listening to the conversation. He was curled in the backseat with Gabriel; the dog sitting on the seat beside him, licking his face comfortingly and eyeing him with what looked like real concern.

"Thank you so much," John told Ruth, "I just don't know what to say."

The woman smiled.

"You just take good care of that dog," Ruth replied, speaking to Sam.

The teen nodded and reached up to hold the dog's ear between his fingers, rubbing the soft fur.

John turned in his seat for a moment to peer at his son. Other than being shaken and receiving a few minor cuts and scrapes, Sam had come out of his cougar encounter unscathed… and with a new friend.

John turned back and waved to Ruth, smiling. He now felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, that he wouldn't' have to worry about his youngest son so much. All because of a yellow guide dog named Gabriel.

Author's Note:

Written for a prompt provided by ZephireBleue.

I have no idea if cougars are or ever were native to upstate New York. If not, sorry for the mistake. I just needed a large carnivore that wasn't a monster, to attack young Sam and I felt sure there were no more wolves in the area.

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