Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, that would be Kripke and co.

A/N: I wrote this story for a challenge on another site. It is set in late season two.

Keep Me in Your Memory

It was a rare thing for Sam to get to drive his brother's car but right now he wished he was riding shotgun where he belonged. Instead that seat was taken up by Dean who was unconscious and bleeding after being thrown around by the spirit of Percy Hawkins. They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Percy may have been a man but Sam felt that the rest of the saying fit him to a tee. While Sam had been racing around trying to find an old locket that contained some of Percy's hair, the severely pissed off spirit had redecorated the kitchen of the old house, using Dean to put some nice new holes in the wall, knock some cupboard doors off and break the table in half. It probably wouldn't have been so bad if Dean hadn't lost the salt gun the first time he went flying.

Now the impala was flying up the road towards their current motel. Sam probably couldn't have driven any faster if he was wearing lead shoes and God help them if there were any police cars around. The police were the reason that Sam, against his better judgement, wasn't taking Dean to a hospital. To take him to a hospital would be too much of a risk when the police were convinced he was a murderer. Sam knew that Dean would no sooner torture and kill a young woman than he would paint his car pink but his word wasn't worth much given that he was suspected of being Dean's accomplice in any number of other crimes. All of which had been committed for the purposes of survival or putting disturbed, often violent, spirits to rest, not that the police gave a rat's furry ass about any of that.

Finally, the motel loomed up ahead. It was called the 'Fields of Gold Inn' and how it got its name was anyone's guess. The area had no history of gold mining and, as Dean had pointed out when they arrived, the local farmers didn't appear to be cultivating anything more than dirt. Of course, 'Fields of Dirt', while more accurate, probably wouldn't sound quite as enticing to prospective customers. Even if it could describe not just the surrounding countryside but also the carpet in the room the boys were renting.

Sam pulled the impala into the motel parking lot and brought it to a stop outside room 15. Dean was still showing no sign of regaining consciousness and as Sam gently lifted him out of the car he flopped around like a rag doll. Well an overgrown, ridiculously heavy rag doll anyway.

"No more cheeseburgers for you." Sam panted as he finally reached Dean's bed and, with relief, laid his brother down.

In the bright light of the motel room Dean's injuries looked even worse. Sam decided to start with the cuts that marred his brother's torso. The three deepest ones still bled sluggishly and Sam was sure they would need stitching. First though, they needed to be cleaned. He found the first aid kit and rummaged around in it looking for the antiseptic. He found none, which was annoying but nothing to worry about. As always, they were well supplied with salt and there was warm water in the taps here, even if the bathroom had seen better days. It only took a few minutes for Sam to make up a saline solution and start dabbing at Dean's wounds with it. Dean flinched a little at the touch but didn't open his eyes.

When he was satisfied that all the cuts were as clean as they were going to get, Sam went back to the first aid kit.

"What the hell?" He ground out, glaring at the bag. He could have sworn they'd restocked the kit recently so why did they have no antiseptic and now no surgical thread?

Sam sat back feeling a strange combination of frustration and panic. Dean's wounds needed to be stitched. How was he going to do that when they had no friggin' thread?

Then he remembered. When Dean had gone out to get the medical supplies he'd been recognised and they'd had to leave town in a hurry. In the rush to get out before the police caught up with them it was possible that Dean had put the supplies in his own bag rather than the first aid kit.

Sam felt sort of guilty going through Dean's bag. True, he had good reason, but it still felt like he was invading Dean's privacy. He found the antiseptic first and it was while he was searching for the thread that he came across the book.

It was bound with soft brown leather and it looked like Dean had drawn on it with a gold pen to create a design that resembled a devils trap. There was a note stuck on the outside that read 'For Sammy' in his brother's distinctive handwriting. Sam stared at it for a moment before placing it outside the bag to look at later. He was unbelievably curious about what it might contain, but he had to care for Dean first.

Sam found the surgical thread shortly after and tried not to rush as he sewed up Dean's cuts. His work was so fine you could be forgiven for thinking he was highly trained doctor. Then, satisfied that he'd done all he could for the time being he covered his brother with a quilt and sat down turning the book over and over in his hands. It had his name on it but Sam wasn't sure he should be reading it. Eventually he gave in to curiosity and undid the leather strap that closed it.

The first page held a letter.

Dear Sammy,

We both know that hunting is a dangerous gig. I realised a long time ago that one of these days something is probably going to get me before I get it. I don't want to leave you, but you know me – I'm a reckless idiot so it stands to reason that I'll probably go before you. I made this book so that you'll have something left of me, something besides the car that you can keep, should the worst happen.

There are a lot of things I wish I could say to you, but being emotionally stunted and chick-flick-moment-a-phobic I'll probably never say them out loud. The main one is that I love you. I love you more than anything or anyone else on this earth. There is nothing that you could do or say that could change that, no destiny, nothing. You have been my world since I carried you out of our burning house when I was four years old.

I'm sorry you never got the normality you wanted. You of all people deserve that white picket fence, the wife and the kids and the big drooling dog. I don't mind if you want to have another try at it now I'm gone. Just do me one favour: get rid of that bastard demon first. As long as it survives it will just keep causing trouble for you. Not to mention that it's stealing perfectly good oxygen.

I know you've been worrying about the destiny that Yellow Eyes thinks he has in store for you and truth be told it freaks me out a bit as well. But I know one thing. You are not evil. You never were and I don't care what Yellow Eyes thinks, you never will be. Yeah, I know, what about Max Miller and Webber? Yellow Eyes pushed them and they gave in to that pushing. You're stronger than that. I believe it, even if you don't.

"And here I was thinking maybe I should put that somewhere else, just in case you couldn't bring yourself to snoop through my bag."

Sam jumped at the sudden interruption and looked around guiltily to find Dean smiling at him.

"It's ok," he said, reading Sam like a book as always, "I don't mind. I did make it for you after all. I would like to know what you were doing in my bag though."

"I'm sorry. It's just, you put all the stuff for the first aid kit in there and I needed to stitch you up."

"Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot I did that." He paused for a moment. "Hey, Sam?"


"I think I'm going to puke."

Sam jumped up and grabbed the rubbish bin from the other side of the room, making it back to his brother just before Dean began bringing up his toenails.

After relieving his stomach of its contents Dean quickly fell asleep. Since his pupils were both the same size and he seemed coherent enough Sam was content to let him, though he still resolved to stay awake himself just to be safe.

He sat down and picked up the book again, picking up reading where he'd left off.

This is a book of memories. Some you share, others will be new to you. Everything I remember about Mom is in here as well as everything I can tell you about how Dad was before she died. I've also written down my memories of when you left for Stanford. I want you to know how proud I was of you, but I would be lying if I left out how much it hurt to lose you. Please don't feel bad. I forgave you ages ago, so don't you go beating yourself up about it.

I've also included memories of hunts, both with and without you, and memories of our childhood together. I know it wasn't the most wonderful of upbringings but it wasn't all bad. Remember when I put Nair in your shampoo? Ok, so you probably don't want to remember that but you get my point.

I know it's not much but with the way we live it's not practical to carry around lots of stuff so apart from my car and a police record that probably stretches from one side of the country to the other by now, these memories are all I really have to leave behind. You can do what you like with this book, you don't have to keep it if you don't want to, but I hope you do. All I ask is that you keep me in your memory.

I promise I will keep you in mine.


P.S. I want you to have the impala. I'll be watching though, so don't you dare mistreat her!

Sam flicked through the rest of the book with tears in his eyes. As promised the book contained pages and pages of memories, all written out in Dean's handwriting, interspersed with photographs. Most were from happier times before their mother died, but there were a few from later on and even a couple of them as adults. Sam didn't know how Dean had managed to do all this without him knowing.


Pale dawn light seeped through the windows of the tiny motel room as Sam sat down to compose his own letter to Dean.

Dear Dean,

I will never forget you. I know you might find this hard to believe but I love you at least as much as you love me. You are amazing, and I'm not being sarcastic or having a joke.

You are much more than just my brother. You practically raised me and in doing so became my father and mother as well. I never knew Mom and Dad spent so much time away from us that I sometimes wondered if he loved me at all. I never had to wonder if you did, because you showed me every day.

I'm sorry I cut you off when I was in college. It was wrong of me. You didn't do anything wrong and I wasn't angry with you. I was just afraid that if I talked to you I'd get drawn right back into hunting. Not because I thought you'd try to force me, but because I missed you so much it hurt and I hated being separated from you. I also wouldn't have put it past Dad to try and call me on your phone so that I'd answer. But neither of those reasons is a good enough excuse for hurting you and I'm sorry.

Words cannot describe exactly how much you mean to me Dean. I know I like to bitch and moan about your music and your habits but the truth is you keep me sane. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you and I don't want to find out.


He folded it up and slipped it into Dean's bag for him to find. As he finished doing up the zip he became aware of movement from the bed. He turned around to find Dean looking at him.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked

"What the hell happened? The last thing I remember is pissy Percy throwing me into the wall for the millionth time. Did you get rid of him?"

Sam just smiled and reassured Dean that the spirit was gone.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated.