Close Your Eyes

[Battle of the Fandoms: Supernatural] Season 10 spoilers. The first time Dean told Sam to close his eyes was when he was a baby. The last time would be as he prepares to do the unthinkable.

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1. Sammy, Close Your Eyes.

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes,” Dean said, his voice light and lilting as he stood over his six month old brother’s crib. He knew Sam couldn’t understand him yet, so he reached up and gently closed his eyes for him. Sam obediently kept them closed, laughing a little gargling laugh. Dean smiled.

    Reaching beneath the crib, he pulled out a large stuffed bear, fluffy and brand new. Dean glanced back at his parents who stood smiling in the doorway and grinned before holding it above Sam and poking him in the stomach to get him to look. 

    “Happy first half birthday, Sammy!” Dean said with delight as Sam’s grasping fingers reached for the bear and pulled it tight. His face was an expression of pure joy, and he looked at Dean with all the reverence a baby could have. Dean felt like the greatest older brother in the world. “I think he likes it, Mom.”

    Dean’s mom smiled down at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Of course he does. You picked it, didn’t you?”

    Dean beamed.

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes,” Dean told his little brother as he gathered him up in his arms. The flames were already licking down the hallway as Dean’s father shoved them towards the door.

    “Run, Dean, go!” his dad screamed at them.

    Dean couldn’t think; there was too much happening. All he knew was that the house was on fire, and he had to get Sam out of there. Still, all he could focus on as his feet carried them forward was that Sam not know what was going on. He pulled his little brother tight to his chest where he could feel Sam’s cries against his body. “Close your eyes,” Dean pleaded, his voice breaking. “It’s going to be okay, just close your eyes.”

    Dean didn’t have time to see if Sam had understood him or not, because he was already bursting through the front door and onto the lawn. When he turned, Dean found his father rushing towards them, arms reaching. “Give me Sam,” he said in a grim voice.

    Handing his brother over, Dean had to ask, “Where’s Mom?”

    His father’s broken look toward the house told Dean all he needed to know. As if in a trance, Dean dropped his eyes to the bundle of blankets in his father’s arms, if only to put off thinking about his mom. Sam’s eyes were closed. Dean burst into tears.

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes.” 

    Sam whined, “Why do I always have to be the seeker? You always take the good hiding spots first.”

    Dean rolled his eyes. “Please, if you knew where the ‘good’ hiding spots were, you’d always be able to find me.”

    For a six-year old, Sam had mastered the look of annoyance which he now gave Dean surprisingly well. “Fine.” He closed his eyes. “Thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight…”

    Dashing off, Dean swept his eyes over the junk yard of his dad’s friend Bobby. They’d been staying there for the past few days while their dad was off on a hunt, and Dean didn’t know how much longer he’d be. All he knew was to make the most of it, because Bobby was happy to let them run around and play rather than train during every waking minute. 

    “Ready or not, here I come!” Sammy called.

    Dean dropped to his stomach and crawled under one of the rusting cars. His breath ghosted over the gravel which dug into his arms and stomach, and he almost hoped Sam would be quick in finding him. It wasn’t the most comfortable position. 

    Sure enough, Dean’s brilliant little brother didn’t disappoint. He heard the footsteps in the gravel first, then, “I know you’re under there, Dean.”

    Unable to repress a grin, Dean came crawling out. “How’d you find me?”

    Sam just grinned, saved from answering by Uncle Bobby’s yell, “You boys want some lunch? I’m makin’ hot dogs.”

    Dean glanced at Sam, saying, “Race you!”

    They took off, feet slipping on the rocks in their haste, and racing towards the house.

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes,” Dean said quietly, grimly. From where he huddled scared in the corner, Sam didn’t hesitate to obey. He closed his eyes. Grateful, Dean turned back to his father who had just stumbled in, drunk out of his mind. He was currently rifling through the nightstand of the dingy little hotel in which he’d left Dean and his nine year old brother for the week. 

    “Where is it?” John slurred. 

    Dean swallowed hard, trying not to shake. He had to be brave. He had to be brave for Sam. “I spent it,” Dean said.

    “You what?” John demanded, straightening up. “That was ammo money,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I told’ja not to touch it.”

    “I had to. We needed food.”

    “I left you money for food,” John spat.

    Dean felt anger rising in him. “Not enough! Sam was-“ Dean cut himself off, but too late. He hadn’t wanted to bring Sam into this, but he could still hear the rumble of his little brother’s empty stomach, and it had just slipped out.

    “Sam what?” John demanded, stumbling forward and shooting a glare at Sam in the corner. He still had his eyes clenched shut. “Was the kid complainin’ again?”

    “No,” Dean said immediately. “Sam didn’t say a word. It was all me.”

    Dean didn’t cry out as the first blow fell, nor the second. His only consolation was that Sam wasn’t watching, and so he wasn’t about to let him hear either. When John stepped back, Dean was sore and stinging, already feeling the bruises forming. “You’re gonna pay back e’ry penny of that, you hear me?”

    Dean nodded silently. He had no idea how, but he’d find a way. John grunted, then headed back for he door, his fingers fumbling with the knob. Dean didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care either. As soon as he heard the Impala fire up and pull away, he slumped gratefully to the floor. “You can open your eyes now, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

    Sam did as he was told, and was even brave enough to keep the tears at bay as he silently headed for the first aid supplies. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Sammy said as he doused a small cloth with rubbing alcohol and pressed it to Dean’s skin. 

    “I don’t regret it, Sammy,” Dean said.

    “I’ll help you get the money.”

    Dean smiled softly. “I know. We’ll figure something out.” Sam’s eyes shimmered wetly, and Dean patted his knee. “We’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.”

    Sam nodded. He trusted Dean more than anyone.

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes,” Dean said. He waited. “Come on, Sam, close 'em.”

    “I thought I told you to stop calling me ‘Sammy’,” Sam replied, scowling. 

    “I thought I told you to close your eyes,” Dean retorted.

    With a sigh, Sam closed his eyes. Dean crossed the room in a few quick strides and dug around in his duffel bag. He didn’t have any paper with which to wrap his gift, but he got the impression that Sam wouldn’t mind. “Still closed?” Dean asked before turning around.

    “Yes,” Sam said. 

    “Good.” Dean returned to the bed on which Sammy sat indian-style. He perched on the edge, holding his gift in his lap. “Okay, you can open them.”

    Sam did so, and Dean was able to watch as his eyes lit up with recognition and happiness. “No way,” he breathed. 

    “Happy sweet sixteen, Samantha,” Dean said with a teasing grin. 

    Sam was too much in shock to even yell at Dean for making fun of him. “You’re kidding.”

    Dean handed over the sleek laptop. “It’s not the newest or best thing out there, but I figure it’ll do. I’m just hoping I got the right thing; I had no clue what I was looking for. All that geek stuff is beyond me.”

    “It’s perfect, Dean,” Sam said, running his hand over the computer’s surface reverently. Then, he looked up. “Where’d you get the money for this? You didn’t steal Dad’s, did you?”

    Dean could see the worry in Sam’s eyes, but he waved it away. “No, I’m not that stupid. You remember that ghost in Oklahoma? I nicked a couple of that old lady’s necklaces. Not like she was gonna be using them, right?” Dean smiled. “But Dad’ll be mad to know I wasted money on something other than hunts, so for all intents and purposes, you found that in the trash and we fixed it, okay?”

    “Okay,” Sam said, still in awe as he set the computer aside and leaned over, wrapping his brother in a hug. “Thank you so much, Dean. You’re the best brother I could ever ask for.”

    “Does that mean you’ll let me watch porn on your laptop?”

    “No.

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes.”

    “Come on, Dean; I’m not five. I can handle it,” Sam protested. 

    Dean wrinkled his nose, saying to Sam on the other side of the doorway, “Really, dude. You’re out of practice, and you do not want to see this.” He raised his arm so that he could breathe through the sleeve. “Just close your eyes and I’ll guide you through to the other room. We’ve gotta get that curse box.”

    “Just because I went to college for a few years doesn’t mean I suddenly got squeamish,” Sam protested.

    “Sam,” Dean groaned. 

    “Fine!” Sam came around the corner with his eyes closed. “Happy?”

    “Not really,” Dean admitted, gripping his elbow and guiding him through the mutilated mess of bodies and body parts. About halfway across the room, Sam gasped, then promptly gagged. Without looking back, Dean asked, “Opened your eyes, didn’t you?”

    “Yeah,” Sam admitted. “Oh my God.” 

    “I told you not to,” Dean said. “I thought you’d have learned by now that I’m always right.”

    “I don’t know about that.”

    “It’s true.” Dean carefully avoided what used to be a leg.

    “Can we stop talking until we get out of here?”

    Dean couldn’t help but smile. “It’s good to have you back, Sammy.”

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes.”

    “No way.”

    “Come on.”

    “Nope.”

    “Sam.”

    “No.”

    Dean sighed. “Don’t you trust me?”

    Sam shook his head, watching his reflection in the bathroom of the bunker. “Not entirely.”

    “You really need a haircut, Sam,” Dean said. 

    “And I acknowledge that,” Sam said placatingly. “I’m trusting you to cut my hair, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to let you do it without me watching.”

    Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, live a little. I swear I won’t screw it up.”

    Sam still looked reluctant.

    “I’ll drive you to that farmer’s market you’ve been wanting to visit,” Dean said enticingly. 

    “I could just go myself.”

    Dean crossed his arms. “Not in the Impala you couldn’t.”

    Rolling his eyes, Sam finally gave in. “Fine. But you mess it up and I’m shaving your head bald.”

    “Yeah, yeah.” 

    Sam closed his eyes. Dean grinned into the mirror before he started brutally chopping at his brother’s brown mane. Small locks fell to the floor, and Dean carefully tried to even both sides. After a while, he stepped back and surveyed his work in the mirror. 

    “Can I open my eyes now?” Sam asked.

    “I think so,” Dean said. 

    Sam opened them, acknowledging the new length of his hair as it fell to an inch or two above shoulder length. 

    “Well?” Dean asked. “How’d I do?”

    “Not bad,” Sam decided. “Not bad.”

    Dean grinned.

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes!” Dean shouted frantically as Sam appeared in the doorway seconds before Cas went angel-nuclear to clear out a room of demons.

    Dean shielded his own eyes from the blast of bright, white light and ducked down. When the spots finally faded from his vision, Dean immediately scrambled up and over to Sam’s side. “Sam?” he asked, heart pounding in his ears as he looked down at where his brother lay, facedown. 

    Sam rolled over with a groan, wincing at the movement of his blood-soaked arm. “I’m alright. Coulda used a bit more warning, though,” he muttered.

    “My apologies,” Castiel said, coming up behind Dean. “We had no choice, and you weren’t here to inform.”

    “Well, as long as the demons are gone, we’re good, right?” Sam said, grimacing through the pain. 

    Castiel reached down and pressed his hand to Sam’s shoulder. In a less intense burst of light, the skin knitted back together, and Sam’s breathing eased. “Thanks,” Sam said. 

    “Of course,” Castiel replied. “I should be going.”

    Dean looked from his brother to his angel. “You’re not coming back to the bunker with us?”

    “I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said, shaking his head. “There is other business I need to attend to.”

    “Of course,” Dean said a little too quickly. “But, uh, stop by when you can, ok? Sam gets bored,” he said, nudging his brother. Sam rolled his eyes.

    Castiel’s lip twitched ever so slightly. “I’ll be sure to remember that. Goodbye, Dean.”

    “See ya, Cas.”

    With a flutter of wings, Castiel disappeared. Dean looked back to Sam. “Well, I guess it’s just you and me again.”

    “Try not to sound so excited,” Sam said sarcastically.

    “Bitch.”

    “Jerk.”

 

—[]—

 

    “Sammy, close your eyes,” Dean said sadly, resigned. In his hand, he held Death’s scythe, ready to take his brother’s life. That was, if Dean ever would be ready. He knew for sure that he would never in a million years be able to swing the weapon at Sam while looking at that pleading expression in his eyes. Dean would never be able to hurt Sam while he still held a look of such respect, such trust in his older brother.

    “No. Dean, you don’t have to do this.”

    “Close your eyes, Sammy.”

    “Dean, please. There’s another way. Cas is working on it right now, just - just give him a chance. Come on, Dean. Don’t so this.”

    Dean’s face was set. His eyes were cold and serious, and the Mark of Cain burned furiously on his arm. 

    “Please,” Sam whispered.

    In that moment, Dean saw Sam as baby, then as a child. He saw him playing hide and seek, being presented a gift on his birthday. He saw him as an adult, even, on a hunt. He saw Sam as his brother, as he always had been and always would be. Dean swallowed hard. 

    Sam closed his eyes, and a single tear traced down his cheek.

    Dean hefted the scythe, took a deep breath, and swung.

 

    Sam opened his eyes.

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