Author's note: This is the first fanfiction that I have posted here. I have enjoyed writing it my hope is that others will enjoy reading it. Obviously, I don't own Sam, Dean, or any of the other concepts from Supernatural.

Forgotten, But Not Gone

Chapter One

Sam had the gun cocked before he ever turned the corner. Dean was already up on the roof, facing the thing down. "Would it kill him to wait for me for once?" Sam asked himself aloud, pushing his legs to carry him up the stairs faster. He had to get up there. Why did Dean always have to be so impatient?

Sam threw himself up the last stairway and burst out onto the roof. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. The doppelganger had Dean by the throat, a knife poised against the vein in his neck.

How did Dean allow himself to get in that situation? Sam wondered. His brother was always so cunning and ready for anything the supernatural beings they hunted could throw at him. Yet, there he was.

Sam lifted the gun, aiming for the doppelganger's forehead. One good shot was all he needed. A silver bullet to the head would waste the thing.

"I wouldn't. Not if you want your brother to live," the doppelganger warned.

Sam hesitated. The shot was there, but this thing had already shown them its speed. He could easily kill Dean before the bullet reached him.

"Come on, Sam. Do it," Dean said.

The doppelganger pressed the blade closer to Dean's neck, drawing blood. Dean didn't even flinch. He just stared at his brother, urging him to take the shot. No regard for his own life.

As much as Dean hounded Sam about his willingness to sacrifice himself to kill the Demon, Dean was all too willing to give his own life to finish a mission. But Sam couldn't do it. He couldn't pull the trigger, knowing his brother would die too.

The doppelganger knew he had won. He smiled, his eyes shining victory. But in his celebration, his knife hand loosened its grip and Dean took the opportunity.

Spinning out and away from the doppelganger, Dean had his own pistol out and aimed in the seconds it took the doppelganger to realize that he'd just lost his advantage. Dean fired at the doppelganger as it charged him. But even as the silver bullet entered the skull of the monster, its arm connected with Dean's chest, knocking him not only off balance but off the roof as well.

Sam was at the roof's edge before the doppelganger even hit the ground, but it wasn't soon enough. His brother was out of reach and quickly falling to his death. Sam yelled, cursing himself for not having control over the telekinesis he apparently possessed.

Dean managed to reach out and grab a ledge at the last second, catching himself, but the ledge crumbled in his hand and he was falling again, hitting the pavement with a dull thump.

Sam continued pacing the hospital halls. He barely remembered rushing down the stairs to his brother's side. He did however remember the relief he felt when Dean's heartbeat thudded under his fingers. The drive to the hospital had been a blur, but he still remembered asking the ambulance driver if they could go faster.

Now, two hours later, Sam was still waiting for answers and praying to every deity he could think of that his big brother was okay. When he saw the doctor smile at him, Sam felt a flood of relief. "He's okay?" Sam asked, needing to hear the confirmation.

"Physically, he should be fine. He had a concussion from the fall, but he was very lucky. He dislocated his shoulder, catching himself, but it will heal in a few days. We're going to keep him overnight for observation, just as a precaution, but he should be fine to go home tomorrow."

"Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded. "Go ahead."

Sam flew down the hall and into his brother's room. Dean was propped up in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even notice Sam step in.

"Hey," Sam said. "How do you feel?"

Dean glanced over at Sam and frowned. "I'm okay."

"Good. The doctors said you could check out tomorrow."

Dean nodded and continued staring at Sam.

Sam waited a few moments for Dean to say something, make some smart-ass comment, tease him for being so slow getting to the doppelganger, ask if the monster was dead. But Dean was silent. Finally, Sam spoke, "What's wrong, Dean?"

"Is that my name?"

Sam would have thought he was joking if it hadn't been for the serious expression on his brother's face. Still, Sam was sure he must have heard wrong. "What?"

"If I'm Dean, then who are you?"

Sam blinked a few times. "You don't remember?"

Dean didn't answer, just stared hard at Sam.

"I'm your brother. My name's Sam. Dean, what's going on? You don't remember anything?"

Dean looked down, studying the hospital blanket spread over him.

"I'm going to talk to the doctor," Sam said, rushing out of the room.

"Amnesia," the doctor confirmed. "It's not all that uncommon after head trauma. The chances are good that it's just temporary."

"So, he'll remember everything eventually?" Sam asked, clinging to that hope.

The doctor nodded. "Probably. Most patients with this kind of amnesia get their memories back in time."

"What do we do until then?"

"Take him home. Treat him normally. Try to keep the same routine you've had in the past. Surround Dean with familiar objects, people, places. This could help trigger his memories. Most importantly, be patient with him. Your brother is going through a difficult trial. He'll need your support."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Doctor."

Sam took a deep breath before entering Dean's room. "Hey, Dean, you almost ready? The doctor said you could check out any time now."

Dean pulled on the shirt Sam had brought him the night before and slipped into his leather jacket. As he moved, Dean's necklace caught Sam's eye. It was on the floor, completely unnoticed by Dean.

"Dean, wait. Your necklace," Sam said, stooping to grab it. "You don't want to forget this."

Dean stared at the necklace, turning it over in his hands. "Why not?"

"Because it's special to you," Sam said.

Dean seemed to accept the answer and slipped the necklace over his head.

Dean seemed perfectly content to follow Sam through the hospital and outside to the parking lot. As Sam removed the keys to the Impala from his coat pocket, he noticed that Dean had been about to walk past the car. He didn't recognize his car, Sam thought.

"Here she is," Sam said, patting the car's exterior.

Dean stared the car over. "This is our car?"

"Your car," Sam corrected. He waited for a reaction. Waited for Dean to smile at "his baby," but Dean's face was blank. Finally, Sam said, "Well, what do you think?"

"It's kind of old, and it looks like its seen better days," Dean said, staring at the car.

A lump formed in Sam's throat, making speech impossible at first. Dean loved that car. How could he not remember that?

"Dean, this car is your baby. You love it. It's been your favorite possession since Dad first gave it to you," Sam explained.

"Oh," was all Dean said as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Sam slid into the driver's seat and started up the engine. "You're not even gonna tell me to be careful with her?"

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Because you hardly ever let me drive your baby," Sam answered.

Dean just stared at Sam, before turning back to the window. "I don't care if you drive."

Sam wanted to scream, but instead he simply put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

It wasn't like Sam wasn't used to silence. Dean was often sullen and when he got in one of his moods, they might go for hundreds of miles with no conversation. But, somehow this was different. Dean wasn't just concentrating on their next mission or brooding about something that had gone wrong on their last mission. This time, Dean was just staring out the window, as if the fields they passed might hold his missing memories.

After half an hour of deafening silence, Sam couldn't take it anymore. If Dean wouldn't talk, music would have to fill the void. Sam popped in one of Dean's favorites, a Blue Oyster Cult cassette.

Dean didn't even seem to notice the music, just kept staring out the window. Sam watched his brother, giving more of his attention to Dean than the road. When Dean's favorite song on the tape came on, Sam felt like he'd been punched.

Usually, Dean would sing along with the lyrics he'd long ago memorized. He would pound the imaginary drums in front of him and nod his head along to the tune. But this shell seated beside Sam didn't do any of that. He just sat, barely moving.

Sam felt like crying. His brother was seated not three feet away, but Sam felt he had lost Dean. It was as bad as if the doppelganger had killed Dean. Either way, the monster had stolen his brother away and Sam was powerless to get him back.

"You okay?" Dean's voice broke into Sam's thoughts and he turned to see that his brother was staring at him.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"'Cause you look upset," Dean noted.

Sam sighed. "I just wish you had your memory back."

"Me too," Dean said, turning back to the window.

They really had no reason to stop at the motel. There was at least another hour of sunlight left and Sam wasn't tired, but he just couldn't stand being in that car anymore. So, when Sam saw a sign for a motel, he pulled off.

Sam checked the two of them in to a room and threw some stuff in a bag, while Dean watched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. As soon as Sam had some things thrown together, Dean grabbed a bag and headed for the room.

Sam put the stuff down in the corner and turned to see Dean watching him from his seat on the edge of the far bed. "Are we criminals?"

The question caught Sam by surprise and before he could formulate a good response, he was laughing. Dean stared at him, frowning. Sam shook his head, "No. Why would you think that?"

"Well, we have too many clothes for this to be a run-of-the-mill road trip. The credit card in my wallet doesn't say 'Dean' on it. It says 'Kurt'. And when you opened that trunk, I noticed the weapons. I may not remember anything about myself, but I'm pretty sure most people don't carry fake id and travel with an armory in their trunk."

Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean's mind was still intact. If he could deduce all of that, maybe there was hope that the memories were still in there too.

Sam shook his head. "We're not criminals, but you're right. We're not exactly normal."

Dean stared back silently, waiting for the explanation.

"This may sound a little strange, but we hunt demons and any other supernatural thing we come across."

There was silence a moment before Dean said, "Are you sure you're not the one who hit your head?"

"It's true, Dean. Our mom died when we were little and our dad trained us to hunt these things. He kept this journal." Sam pulled their dad's journal out of his jacket and flipped it open in front of Dean. "This tells about all of the things Dad has hunted or researched. You came and got me at college so we could hunt together. We've been on the road together for over a year."

Dean flipped through a few journal pages and stared from the book to Sam. Sam tried to be patient. He had to remind himself that this was all new to Dean; he was hearing it all as if for the first time. Anyone would be overwhelmed by that information.

Dean closed the journal and turned it over in his hands. "You said this was our dad's?"

"That's right."

"Where is he?"

Sam drew in a breath. He should have been expecting that question. It was a logical response to what Sam had just said. Sam sank to the bed across from his brother. "Dad, um, he's… He's dead, Dean."

Dean stared down. "For how long?"

"A few months."

Dean nodded, his jaw set. "How did he die?"

"We don't know." It wasn't exactly a lie. The two didn't know exactly what had happened. But both boys had managed to fit the pieces together. One minute their dad was okay, recovering from minor injuries while Dean lay dying in a coma. The next minute, Dean made a miraculous recovery and their dad was on the floor, dead. And the colt, their one hope of stopping The demon for good was gone. The answer was obvious: their dad had made a trade, a fatal one.

It had taken Dean weeks to admit just how much he was hurting over the loss of their father. Sam had seen the pain in his big brother's eyes and listened to Dean's rough voice crack with emotion. And Sam would be damned if he was going to do anything to bring that pain back to his brother. Especially not now, not when Dean wasn't strong enough to handle it.

"But you think it was something… supernatural?" Dean prodded.

"Maybe," Sam said.

"Were we with him when he died?"

Sam shook his head.

"So, he was alone," Dean said.

"He knew the risks, Dean. We all do. He died protecting people from evil. It's what he would have wanted." Sam left out that it was Dean that their dad was protecting. Dean didn't need that burden.

Dean didn't look up, just sat staring at the floor.

Sam picked up their father's journal and placed it in gently in his bag. Sam turned back to Dean, but he still wouldn't look up. "Are you hungry?" Sam asked, suddenly realizing that they hadn't eaten all day.

Dean shook his head and scooted back, laying his head back against the headboard of the bed.

"Okay. We'll, I saw a diner across the street. I'm gonna run and get something to eat. I'll be back soon, okay? Just wait here for me."

Dean looked up at Sam and cocked an eyebrow. "Sam?"


"I'm not four."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, right. Uh, I'll be back in a minute."

Sam was only gone about ten minutes, but it felt like an eternity. He hated leaving his brother alone. It wasn't fear, exactly. Sam knew Dean would be safe there in the motel room. It was more that he didn't want Dean to feel alone.

Dean was lost, vulnerable and stumbling through the darkness. He shouldn't have to be alone too. Even if Dean didn't remember him, Sam intended to stick by his brother's side until Dean was his old self. Sam had resolved that at least Dean wouldn't be physically alone until he was better.

Sam fumbled with the key in the lock, trying twice to open the door. When he finally got back inside the motel room, Dean was watching TV, a comedy. But Dean wasn't laughing. In fact, he didn't even seem to be paying attention to the screen.

Sam put a cup and burger on Dean's nightstand. "I thought you might be hungry later," he explained.

"Thanks," Dean said, not moving.

Sam went to the table in the room and ate his meal in silence. When he finished, he threw away the trash and prepared for bed. He even lay down, but he was hesitant to go to sleep.

Sam wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but he knew that it was still night. The room was completely dark, except for the sliver of light escaping from under the bathroom door.

Glancing over at Dean's bed, Sam saw that it was empty. He stood and went to the bathroom door. It was already open a bit, so he pushed it all the way open, finding Dean sitting in the corner, reading.

Sam came inside, noticing that the book in Dean's lap was their father's journal. Dean looked up as Sam approached. "I thought I'd do some research."

Sam grinned, squatting down beside his brother. "That's funny, you usually hate research."

"What was he like?" Dean asked.


"I don't remember anything about him. Just tell me about him. Was he a good dad?"

Sam sat on the cold tile of the bathroom. "Yeah. He always took care of us, wanted to make sure we were safe. He loved us a lot."

Dean nodded. "Good."

"Let's go back to bed. Dad's journal will still be here when you wake up."

"I'm not tired," Dean said.

Sam sighed. "You should try to get some sleep anyway. We'll be driving again tomorrow."


"I'm not sure yet. Wherever I can find us a new job." Sam neglected to mention the newspaper articles he'd found suggesting supernatural activity in Arkansas. From the article, it sounded like werewolf activity. Even on a good day, werewolves were difficult adversaries. There was usually more than one in an area and if you fought one, you'd have to deal with the whole pack. Plus their strength and speed made them difficult to beat. There was no way Sam was going to put his weakened brother in a fight that dangerous. He'd just have to find something a little easier.

"I'll look tomorrow," Sam said. "Come on."

Reluctantly, Dean handed Sam the journal and stood.

Sam ordered breakfast for both of them and brought it back to the motel. Dean was never up before seven on his own, so Sam felt safe in leaving him to retrieve the food. But when Sam was confronted with an empty room, he felt a wave of terror and nearly dropped the food and coffee.


Author's note: Okay, let's hear it. I am dying to know what others think of my story. Please write responses.

P.S. I know that Dean does not seem like Dean much now, but I promise he will show some Dean traits in the future even in spite of his amnesia, just be patient.