Author's Note: Finally starting on my hurt/comfort bingo card! This is for the "amnesia" square.
"But be careful what you wish for
'Cause you just might get it
You just might get it."
—The Pussycat Dolls "When I Grow Up"
He wakes up with an endless blue sky above him and the feel of crisp green grass below him. He sits up slowly, a pounding in his head causing him to press his cool palm against his temple and his eyes to squeeze shut. Birds chirp and he forces his eyelids open and blinks through the glare that the sunlight causes. He's never seen this field before and though he can hear cars driving by on some sort of road, he can't see it. His legs are shaky and his knees nearly buckle, but somehow he manages to stand.
"Hello?" He calls out hesitantly, and then coughs because his voice is scratchy as if it hasn't been used in weeks. No response comes and he nods to himself, mind made up. He heads towards the noise of the cars and begins the trek to find someone—anyone—who could help him. It's as he's absently putting his hand in his coat pocket that he hears the crunch of paper. He freezes and pulls out a wrinkled note. It's the size of his pinky and the writing is nearly impossible to make out as it is all smudged.
Two words are on the paper:
"Dean?" He repeats, the name rolling off his tongue effortlessly, like it had done so for the entirety of his life, yet, he had no recollection of any Dean.
In fact, he doesn't remember anything except waking up in this field and that scares him more than he cares to admit. He can't recall how he ended up here or what even his own name is.
"Okay," He breathes, trying to steady his pounding heart as the tendrils of fear grip him and threaten to bring him under their influence. "Okay, I have to have something with me." He pats down his jeans and his coat and with a quick grin; he pulls out a wallet only to find that he doesn't have an I.D. in there.
"You alright?" A voice calls out and he startles. A young woman with auburn hair stares at him curiously. Her bright green eyes seem to see into the deepest parts of him and for a second, he feels a fleeting sense of déjà vu.
"I can help you," She whispers to him as she smiles at him. Her auburn hair flows down until it kisses her creamy shoulders and she places a warm hand on his cheek. "I can free you."
"Do I . . .?" He knows this sounds odd, but it's the only lead he's got. "Do I know you?" The woman tilts her head to the side and for a brief second, he's afraid that she'll leave him.
"No," She starts carefully. Her lips pouted, she adds, "Is that some sort of pick up line—?"
"No!" He exclaims and he can tell how offended she is, but he isn't that kind of guy, or at least, he doesn't think he is. "No. It's just . . . I can't remember where I am."
"You're lost?" Her expression softens.
"Yeah." He mumbles.
"Well then," She steps a bit closer to him. "There's a ranger station up ahead. Let's see if they can get you sorted out."
"Thank you." He tells her earnestly and she nods.
"No problem," She waves off his concern. "I'm Maggie." She offers her hand and he shakes, relieved to have found someone else. There was nothing more terrifying than being truly alone in the world. "And you are?" She must see the dejected expression on his face for she shakes her head and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll be okay."
He just wishes he could believe her.
There are no missing person's reports at the ranger station and no man named Dean in the near vicinity. Add to the fact that the lone ranger on duty never even saw him come into the campgrounds and he feels pretty damn hopeless. Maggie just smiles at him, like she knows everything will somehow work out.
"Don't worry," She soothes as the ranger makes a few phone calls to the local precinct, which has better resources than this small outpost. "Amnesia usually clears up. Plus, someone has to be looking for you." She nods her head, reassuring herself but he is not too sure. If this "Dean" wasn't in the immediate area, than maybe the note hadn't been his to begin with. He didn't even know his own name, for crying out loud! How was he to trust in "Dean" or whoever the hell that was? The ranger sighs on the phone and hangs up with a clang. Turning toward him, he grabs a pen.
"They don't have a report with someone matching your description," He explains. "So, we should fill one out." Dread settles in his stomach. "Name?" Maggie glances at him, idly waiting to see if his response will change and he closes his eyes and searches the void for something—anything.
A junkyard full of dilapidated cars. He had been running when it had happened. He hadn't seen the rock and it had tripped him over. It had cut into his knee and he had sobbed and cried out for someone. A man in a baseball cap came running with a rag, cursing up a storm as the blood kept gushing. In-between curses he had told him to, "Hang in there, Sam."
"Sam." It feels right on his tongue and he knows that this has to be his name.
"Sam," The officer repeats. "Last name?" Nothing comes to his mind and the more he reaches into the dark, the sharper in the pain in his head becomes. Shaking his head, the man skips.
"He has amnesia," Maggie offers up. "I found him wandering around by the lake."
"Amnesia?" The ranger echoes, frowning. "We'd better call an ambulance then."
"No, I don't need one." Sam tells him, feeling like this is the right thing to say.
"You must've hit your head," Maggie reasons gently. "They need to see if something happened to your skull or brain."
"Your head hurt, Sam?" She smiled as she came to sit on the bed beside him, her golden hair flowing over her shoulder until tickled his hand. She grinned, ruby red lips pulling upwards and just by looking at her, he felt at ease. "My poor baby." She leaned down and kissed him and in that moment, he felt like he could die happy.
"See?" Maggie insists as he doubles over as the pain increases. "Hang on, Sam, okay?"
But he can barely hear her over the ringing in his ears and soon he succumbs to the darkness.
A woman burning on the ceiling, her face frozen in a twisted version of a smile. Blood dripped down on his face as he stared up at his girlfriend and suddenly; she was gone, engulfed in the unearthly fire.
"Jessica?" Maggie pipes up and Sam tries to catch his breath. It had just been a nightmare but it had seemed so damn real. "Who is Jessica?"
"My girlfriend," He whispers, grief bubbling up to the surface because fuck, he remembers her and he doesn't want to recall what happened to her. These painful memories almost destroyed him the first time and he has no doubt that they will kill him now. "She died."
"I am so sorry," Maggie murmurs and Sam takes a few, steadying breaths before looking around. The hospital room is small, but has a nice window to let the sun in. He's not hooked up to many machines, which must mean that his tests must've come back fine. "You okay?"
"Am I?" He questions and she nods.
"Your x-ray was fine," She answers. "They were just keeping you for observation." He nods his head and then unplugs himself. He pulls out his IV and Maggie jumps up, arms outstretched.
"Stop! What are you—?"
"I need to get out of here," He informs her and the need to escape, to find Dean, to find some solace and answers is so overwhelming that he feels like he may just drown in it. "I need to find Dean."
"I don't know who he is," Sam confesses sheepishly. "But he can help. I'm sure of it." He shrugs. "I know it sounds crazy but—"
"No," She interjects, wistfully sighing. "I understand." Then, meeting his gaze. "I guess this is goodbye." He nods his head and she beams. "I wish you luck."
With that, she's out the door.
He signs himself out AMA and heads back to the field he woke up in. He reasons that there must be a clue of some sorts there, some sort of sign—
"—a sign that you should maybe think about taking it easy." Anger consumed him and he tossed his duffel down on the motel bed.
"I can hunt, Dean." Dean shook his head and grimaced. His eyes remained locked on Sam's though and determination mixed with pure love filled them.
"I'm not saying that you can't, Sam—"
"Then, what are you saying?" He challenged.
"I'm saying one hunt is not worth you getting killed over just because you feel like you have something to prove!" Sam crossed the gap between them and dared his older brother to say something else.
"Jessica is dead and I couldn't save her," He hissed. "I will not sit by and let other people die!"
"And I won't let you die." Dean retorted.
A pause as both men regained their composure.
"Then, we're at an impasse." Sam replied.
"What now?" He questioned.
"Decision's made, Sam," Dean informed him. "Pack your stuff. I'll be back."
And Dean had just headed out the door.
His head throbs and he feels like he's being ripped part. Groaning, he feels himself sink to the ground as image upon image fills his mind. A lifetime of memories reveals themselves to him and Sam feels like he's drowning in them. The people, the time and the place change, but one thing remains constant—
Dean teaching him to fire a gun, helping him with his homework, making his lunch, being both a brother, a father and a best friend all wrapped up in one protective package. His life had felt so empty at Stanford even though he had his precious "normal" and Jessica and it had been because his older brother had been gone. He had wanted nothing more than to hear his brother tease him like always, to come up and see the dorm and tell him how proud he was of him.
God, how could he had ever forgotten the one person that had kept him sane his whole life, who had loved him unconditionally?
It was 20 minutes after Dean left that the salt line had blown over and the door thrust opened that she had entered in—Maggie, dressed in a green down that clung to her skin in all the right places. He grabbed the gun and faced her but with a wave of her hand, the gun was across the room and he was pressed up against the wall.
"So much pain in your memories," She whispered, running a hand through his hair. "You've suffered so much. Let me ease the burden, as your brother wished."
"He's not coming," She informed him with a quick grin. "But I find his devotion to protecting his family admirable. Therefore, I shall grant his wish and free you of your memories—" It clicked suddenly.
"Mnemosyne." He breathed and she laughed softly.
"You are a smart one," She remarks. Then, voice barely above a whisper, she leaned in. "I can help you. I can save you."
"This is what your brother wished for," She murmurs. "And deep down, Sam Winchester, you wish for it too. To be free of all the pain and suffering and have a chance to start over—isn't that what everyone wants?"
And for one brief second, he let his guard down and then she was chanting words that made no sense but caused a fire in his mind.
Then, he had woken up.
"You remember." He spins around and the Greek Goddess of memory is there, decked out in all her finery, a grin on her face.
"I didn't want to forget—" He starts but she shakes her head.
"Part of you did," She counters. "But it would seem your heart would not let you start over."
"My brother—" She holds up her hand for silence.
"He is fine," She begins. "I simply just sent him to another state and waited to see what your choice would be." Eyes shining, she holds his gaze. "You chose family over a life free of suffering." Then with a huff, she adds, "A noble choice, yet foolish. Still, to each their own . . ." She turns to leave, but one piece of the puzzle remains unsolved.
"Wait!" She stops. "You left the note in my pocket." He steps closer to her and sees the truth written on her expression. With a grin of his own, he adds, "You wanted me to remember." With a coy smile, she turns around.
"Is that so?" She remarks and before he can say anything else, she's gone in a flash of light.
Yet, with all the memories back, something is still missing.
"Sammy!" In the distance, Sam sees his brother running towards him and he beams.
"Dean!" He moves towards his brother and in a few seconds, his brother's strong arms are around him and he feels safe, just like he's felt ever since he was little. Nothing bad could happen to him on Dean's watch—his older brother would never allow it.
"Jesus, Sam," Dean curses, pulls Sam back, eyes carefully scanning him for any injuries. "Are you okay? Did that bitch mess with you? I swear, I didn't know what was going on. She bought me a drink and the next thing I knew I was telling her my life story and I said how I wished you would forget about—"
"It's fine," Sam interrupts, waving his hands. "Dude, it's okay. She's a goddess, Dean. I doubt you would've been able to stop her—"
"Are you okay?" His older brother repeats. "What happened?"
"Just a little trip down memory lane." He answers vaguely.
"What the hell does that mean?" Suddenly exhausted, Sam sways, only for a pair of strong arms to grip him and keep him upright. "Sammy?" It was funny how much of a contradiction Dean could be—rough hands, soft voice, gruff exterior, pure heart; the list went on and on.
"I'm fine," He assures his brother. "Let's just go back to the room, okay? I'll explain everything to you then."
"Yeah, okay." They start to head back, Dean's arm on his back just in case he should fall and Sam smiles. Painful memories were worth this. Suffering was worth being able to be with his brother. Some days were better than others, yeah, but one day, the memories wouldn't be as painful and when that time came, Dean would be there to celebrate with him. People would come and go from his life. He would put places in his rearview mirror constantly. Memories would fade and be replaced with new ones.
But, Dean always would remain.
Of that, Sam has no doubt.
Author's Note: This piece was pretty hard to write, but I like how it came out. Hopefully, you did too! Please expect more new pieces up soon and updates to my other stories. I'm slowly, but surely going to get caught up soon. Anyways, please review if you have a second! Thanks!