This is the sequel to 'To hell and Back' and picks up right where it left off.:)

Forget Me Not

Chapter 1 –

The powerful black truck navigated the dirt road towards the recently restored rectory nestled beside an old stone church. The vehicle was barely parked before a tall, dark haired man with piercing blue eyes and text-book ruggedly handsome was standing in the doorway waiting.

"Damn," John Winchester said as he got out of the truck and looked into the concerned face of his old friend. "I knew something was going on there but a witch? Damn," he repeated in heartfelt frustration. "I'd never have sent them if I'd known."

Father Jim's smile was tight but his eyes held an appraising warmth. The priest was very fond of John and his sons – they were as much as his family as they were Winchesters. "Witches are tricky," the cleric agreed understanding his friend's agitation.

Of all the evil they fought and trained against, dark magic was the most dangerous. Spells and conjuring increased the risk of a hunt and left even the most experienced hunter vulnerable, if they were not properly countered. Sending ones as relatively young and inexperienced as Dean and Sam would never have been considered if either man had been aware that it was the dark arts the boys would be facing.

Only age could beat a witch.

Age and apparently something else…

"Sam banished her?" It was more an appreciative comment than a question from Jim as the young psychic's abilities were still very undeveloped. Although according to another long time friend Missouri Mosely, the youngest Winchester harbored a lot of power.

Missouri herself was a noted psychic and mind reader – affectionately referred to by John and Jim as a 'witch', however the spirited black woman never messed around with that kind of darkness… to their knowledge, though her insight into such matters convinced the men hers was the voice of experience. However if the eccentric woman was anything, it would be white. Never black magic…

"Yeah," John said grabbing his duffle bag from behind the seat and moving into the house with the priest. "He didn't really want to go into it though – "

"No, I expect not," Jim said absently thinking of the contemplative young man. "What did he say about Dean?"

John sighed, put down his stuff in the hallway and then followed the other man towards the kitchen where he knew a hot cup of coffee would be waiting for him. "Pretty much what I already told you." He had phoned his friend as soon as he'd hung up from Sam recognizing that he was going to need help with this. "The witch was after Dean and best Sam can figure, she must have taken him – Sam – as an obstacle… so she cast a memory spell over Dean, removing all memory of his brother from him."

The hunter dropped down heavily at the table and accepted the hot drink. "To Dean, Sam has never existed. His whole life and all his memories have been corrupted to fit that new reality."

Jim frowned as he put a small jug of cream on the table and then sat down across from his old friend. "She must have been sponsored by something truly wicked to still have that kind of power beyond her existence. Her spells should have died with her."

John looked up sharply at the priest's choice of words. "Sponsored? You think there's something else behind this? Behind her?"

The other man shrugged. "I don't know to be honest, but I'm just guessing since Dean still can't remember Sam that there is something holding her magic… Probably the same thing that helped create her. Witches are seldom born, John."

"I know. I know," the hunter groused. "I just don't like the idea that's all. They salted and burned her for cripes sake. End of story."

The priest chuckled even as he chastised. "Don't be so stupid, hunter. There is always something behind everything and you know that as well as I do."

"Yeah, well I might know it," John agreed, "But I don't have to like it."

Chuckling Jim reached across and clasped the other man briefly on the shoulder. "Ah my friend, once again I'm reminded of where Dean gets his charm… He is his father's son."

"Poor kid," the hunter muttered, taking a sip of his coffee. His friend raised an eyebrow but never said anything for a moment and then he changed the subject.

"Speaking of Dean, when will the boys be here?" It had seemed the most logical place for the younger Winchesters to come. Father Jim's rectory and church had always been a sanctuary to the aching young family; it was the closest thing Sam and Dean knew to a home.

John glanced down at his watch. "Tomorrow. I didn't want them driving all night. Sam sounded like crap and I doubt Dean's much better."

The priest nodded his approval. "Good, "he said, standing up, "Missouri will be here in a couple of hours and that gives us enough time to try and figure this out. Hopefully by the time the kids get here, we'll have something to offer them."

"Missouri's coming?" John was surprised as he knew that she didn't like to travel.

"Yup," Father Jim beamed pearly white teeth. "For us. No. But for those boys. You'd better believe it."

The hunter sighed and leaned back in his seat somehow feeling much better about things now. He was sure that between the three of them they'd work it out. The idea of Dean never remembering his brother was too chilling to even consider…

No. Somehow they would fix this.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Neither boy spoke as Dean drove. Sam was too tired to make an effort and Dean had no idea what to say.

It was just awkward.

The older hunter was actually relieved when he glanced over and noticed his 'brother' had fallen asleep, his head leaned against the passenger side window. He sighed and tried to keep his focus on the road but it was hard. Instead he kept casting little glances at the stranger sitting beside him, trying desperately to remember something about him…. anything.

But he couldn't and all he succeeded in doing was giving himself a headache.

Dean felt bad for the kid, he really did, but other than that, he felt nothing. No, actually that was not true… He did feel an unsettling and unfair resentment towards the boy that in place of the mother he knew, loved and had been expecting, he got a brother, a dark haired stranger with an oddly beseeching gaze. It was as if the boy could see right through him – Dean shivered at the thought.

Sighing, he heard his passenger hiss in pain and winced in muted sympathy realizing the younger man had accidentally brushed one of his hands against something.

Although the hypersensitivity spell had been broken, Sam was still recovering from the very real damage it had done to his body. His face was tinged with a sunburn, as was his neck to a worse degree but it was his hands that had suffered the most. They were red, raw and sore; his fingers trembled slightly as they rested in his lap.

When they had been getting ready to leave, Dean had almost offered to help Sam do up his coat when he saw him struggling with the zipper, but he didn't, feeling awkward by the unfamiliar empathy he felt towards the younger boy, and in the end, Sam had decided to leave it undone.

Sighing again, Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and then frowned. A pickup truck had been following him since he left town an hour earlier but he hadn't thought too much about it, until now.

Now, the vehicle was accelerating and moving up on the Impala at a startling rate.

"Uh Sam," he said, nudging his 'brother' awake. "Did you – ah – piss anyone off back in town?"

Sam blinked at his brother in confusion but never answered as he saw Dean glancing in the rearview mirror and turned in the seat in time to see a pickup truck pull into the lane next to them, fly past at an alarming speed and then cut right across their lane.

"SHIT!" Dean yelled as he slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid the truck. Sam grunted and braced himself against the dash, gasping at the pain that flared though his hands.

The Impala fishtailed and came to rest angled alongside the other vehicle but before the furious Winchester driving the black car could get his door open, a stranger was holding a shotgun in his face.

"Oh shit," Sam whispered, feeling all the blood drain from his face. "Trey…"