Title: Memories Consume
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Summary: When Sam gets injured on a hunt and loses all his memories, it falls to Dean to look after him and help him. The problem is that Dean is reluctant and unsure of what to do. The mistakes pile up, and soon Sam ends up fighting for his life, and Dean, for his sanity.
Spoilers: throughout Season 8
Author's Notes: My first multi-chaptered SPN story. May become AU if I don't end it by Jan. 16. Rated T for language. Title taken from Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park.
Dean cocked his pistol and waited with bated breath, Sam right by his side, for the newest fugly in town to make its appearance. It was a werewolf Sam had discovered a couple of days ago, following which the necessary research and investigation had been done. Now, at midnight two days later, they were waiting for the werewolf in the old shack where it liked to drag its victims before eating their hearts out.
A sound rang out nearby, and immediately both brothers were alert, their senses straining for any sign of the werewolf. It was Sam who saw it first.
Unbeknownst to them, the werewolf knew it was being hunted and had decided to set up a little welcome reception for them. It lay in wait, cloaked by the shadows, until the strong smell of the hunters hit its nostrils and it poised itself to attack. One of the hunters, however, the taller one with the long hair, seemed to have seen it.
Sam saw the glowing eyes and heard the almost inaudible growl around a second before the werewolf pounced out of the shadows – right at Dean. "Dean, look out!" yelled Sam, rolling out of the way and sighing in relief when his brother did the same.
Sam's shout had attracted the werewolf's attention towards him, which had sort of been the point. Cursing, Sam dodged a couple of swipes from the werewolf's strong paws and signalled at Dean to take aim. "I know, I'm trying!" called Dean in irritation. "The damn thing just won't stay still!"
Sam dodged a third time and then answered, "It's a werewolf, genius, it's not going to wait for you to take aim and –" Sam's bitching was cut off when the werewolf jumped at him from his blind spot and swept him clean into the nearest wall. There was a sickening thud as Sam's head hit the wall, and then he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
"Sonovabitch," muttered Dean angrily. Having had just about enough, he delivered a powerful punch to the werewolf's face with his free hand and then, taking advantage of its momentary disorientation, shot it clean in the heart.
Without waiting to see it die, Dean put his gun back inside his coat and strode over to Sam, squatting next to him and shaking him. "Sam, you alright?" Sam didn't stir. "Sammy, can you hear me?" No answer.
Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders and slowly turned him on his stomach, before bringing his hands up to feel Sam's head. There was a huge egg-sized bump in the back where his head had hit the wall, but there was, thankfully, no bleeding. However, the possibility of a concussion still remained, and it was a very strong one. Beginning to worry, Dean shook Sam again, this time quite vigorously. "Sammy, wake up, you hear me?"
Sam slowly opened an eye and stared at Dean. "Wha' d'you wan'?" he asked groggily.
Dean pulled out a penlight and shone it in Sam's eyes, keeping a hand behind his head to prevent him from shrinking away. Both of Sam's pupils contracted in the bright light, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. "You don't have a concussion," he informed Sam. "Don't know how. Probably that thick skull of yours."
Sam didn't answer; he'd gone back to sleep, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. Annoyed, Dean shook him awake again. "Let's go, Sasquatch, I ain't draggin' your scrawny ass all the way back to the car."
Sam got unsteadily to his feet and looked around. Dean didn't like the look on confusion in his brother's eyes, but decided not to comment on it. He noticed Sam looking at the werewolf's body and said casually, "Yeah, I killed the fugly. Can we go now?"
Sam's face was pale, and he didn't seem able to tear his eyes from the now-human corpse. "Is that a man?" he whispered.
"Well yeah, that look like a chick to you?" Dean asked impatiently. He took Sam's elbow and led him away, saying, "Come on, now, let's get back to Shit Motel."
Sam followed Dean in silence. Dean couldn't help noticing the way Sam looked at his surroundings and at the car like they were completely new to him, but he put it down to the knock Sam had received on his noggin. The kid was probably exhausted from the hunt, and the confusion was just a result of his injury mixed with lack of sleep.
And sure enough, Sam collapsed into the nearest bed as soon as he entered the motel room, not even bothering to take off his shoes. Dean chuckled before thinking, I should probably move him to the other bed, the one further from the door. Just in case. And then he remembered with a pang, Sam's thirty now. He doesn't need me to take care of him. He survived a year without me, he'll manage for a night. He did take off Sam's shoes though, before heading into the shower to clean up.
Dean woke the next day with the sun shining obscenely brightly in his eyes and the sounds of the TV from the room next door. Blinking, he sat up and looked around, wondering how on earth he'd been allowed to sleep in that late. After all, weren't they supposed to get out of Shitsville, Indiana, today?
Sam was still asleep, judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest under the covers. Dean swung his legs out of bed and put a hand to Sam's cheek, checking for a fever. There wasn't one, thankfully, and so Dean dressed, scribbled a note and then left to get breakfast.
He returned to find Sam sitting up in bed, staring at the note like he couldn't quite figure it out. Dean raised his eyebrows. It was just a simple note – Gone to get breakfast, be back in a few, Dean – but Sam was looking at it like it was a bunch of gibberish on quantum physics. He looked up when Dean walked closer, and the older brother didn't like the uncertainty he saw in those eyes. "Sammy, you alright?" he asked, setting the brown bags of burgers on the sidetable.
"Who are you?" asked Sam softly. "What am I doing here?"
Dean started. "What do you mean, who am I?" he asked roughly.
"I don't know who you are," Sam told him, looking lost. "I don't know anything. I can't think of anything."
"Okay, not good," Dean muttered to himself before asking Sam, "Do you know your name?"
Sam shook his head helplessly. "I really tried to remember, but I can't," he said.
"Shit," swore Dean. He sat down on his bed and asked, "Okay, what's the last thing you remember?"
"Nothing!" Sam answered desparately. "I told you, I don't know anything!"
Dean could not help but stare. "This better not be a prank," he warned Sam. "Or I will kick your ass halfway to the moon, and not even Cas will be able to bring you back."
"Who's Cas?" asked Sam. Dean facepalmed.
His worry was growing by the second. It didn't seem like a prank, it really looked as if Sam had forgotten everything about himself. After a few minutes of feverish thinking, Dean said, "Get up. We're going out."
"Where?" asked Sam, immediately suspicious. It was a small relief to know that at least the hunter's instinct was still deeply embedded in him.
"To the doctor," Dean answered. "He might be able to help you."
"I don't like doctors," Sam told him.
"Yeah well, tough," Dean declared. "Get dressed."
Sam spent the entire ride in the hospital staring intently out the window, and Dean knew he was trying his hardest to remember something, anything. About ten minutes after they'd left, Sam asked Dean, "So, who are you? As in, really, who?"
Dean stared ahead at the road for a full minute before turning down the music and glancing towards Sam's curious face. "My name's Dean," he finally sighed. "I'm your big brother."
"Okay," said Sam simply. "And who am I?"
What is wrong with the universe? wondered Dean mournfully before answering, "You're Sam." Way to go, Dean, he cheered himself. Some answer that was.
Sam settled for that and resumed looking outside the window, and Dean turned the music back up. Sam waited until the opening of Back in Black was over, before asking, "So, what band is that?"
"Do I like them?"
Dean looked at him uneasily. "I dunno. Depends on your mood, I guess." He pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and switched the music off. "Come on, Sam."
Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated. Flames will be ignored.