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It all happened so quickly. Sam and Dean traveled to a small town in Nebraska, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, where they were hot on the trail of a Rugaru. It was simply a routine hunt. They meticulously tracked down the monster to a dark, grimy, abandoned building. It was two stories, littered with dusty, wooden storage boxes, and nearly every window was broken. Cautiously and silently, the brothers split up to hasten their search of the structure, at Dean’s request. That was a huge mistake, Dean would soon realize.
Sam headed to the balcony level of the cluttered building, while Dean searched the ground floor. He held a lighter in one hand, and a spray can of cheap cologne in the other. It wasn’t a fancy flamethrower, but they had to make do with items from the few gas stations that they had passed along the way. It should work just fine. Probably.
Suddenly, Dean heard clattering and the sound of very heavy boxes sliding across the floor above him. He knew Sam was strong, but that seemed a little…
“Dean!” Sam’s panicked cry echoed.
Without a second thought, Dean bolted in the direction of his voice. He looked up at the balcony just in time to see a disfigured beast shove his brother over the balcony railing. Impressively, Sam managed to grip onto its clothing, towing it with him as he plummeted to the concrete below. To Dean, it seemed as if he was watching it all unfold in slow motion. They hit the ground with a sickening thud. God, Dean hoped that the awful noise came from the Rugaru.
However, seemingly unaffected by the fall, the monster immediately jumped to its feet after sensing Dean’s presence. On the other hand, Sam lay motionless on his back. Sam, Sam,
Sam
was all Dean could think about, but he needed to rely on his hunter instincts right now. For both of their sakes. He rushed toward the Rugaru, and it swung for his head. Unfortunately for the beast, Dean’s agility bested its own: he dropped to the ground and collided with its legs, swiftly knocking it over. While it was on the ground, he flambeed it with their homemade flamethrower before it had the chance to blink. The makeshift weapon seemed to be effective enough. Not even bothering to ensure it was truly dead, he dashed to his brother’s side.
As he knelt down next to him, he realized Sam’s eyes were closed.
“Hey, Sam, Sammy, c’mon,” he urged, voice thick with worry. “Sammy, hey, can you hear me?” He lightly slapped his brother’s cheek multiple times. No response.
Panic continued to bubble up within him, threatening to boil over. He reached behind Sam’s head to lift him up, and he froze. His blood ran cold. Pulling his hand away, Dean found that his palm was now covered in a warm, thick, red liquid. Additionally, barely visible in the dim light, a large puddle of blood had formed on the floor around Sam’s head. “No, no no no…”
Dean swallowed hard. Slowly and shakily, he pressed his fingers to the side of Sam’s neck. He detected a slow, soft pulse, and released a breath that he didn't know he was holding. However, his relief was short lived: he needed to stop the bleeding. Now.
He shed off his jacket like it was on fire. Then, he wrapped it tightly around Sam’s head, and tied the sleeves together to secure it. His hand remained on the back of Sam’s head, applying pressure. Dean pulled out his phone, covering it in bloody fingerprints in the process. Unsurprisingly, he had zero bars of service. “Damn it!” he spat. Of course this had to happen in the middle of Bumfuck, Nebraska. Not to mention, the closest hospital was at least two hours away. Dean could make it in an hour, as speed limits were the last thing on his mind at the moment. Still, Sam wouldn’t last that long.
He dragged his hand down his face. They had a medical kit in the Impala, and he needed to get Sam to a cleaner, more comfortable, well-lit area. However, there was a flight of stairs at the building’s entrance, and he wasn’t about to drag his brother with head trauma down them. But the last time Dean had fully carried Sam, his little brother had been half his size. He took a deep breath.
As carefully as he could, Dean managed to pull Sam into a sitting position. Seeing Sam’s bloodied head lifelessly lull backwards made his stomach churn. Shaking away the image, he lifted Sam’s arm and dipped underneath it, wrapping it around the back of his neck. Sam’s head rested against his shoulder blade. It was a small comfort, knowing his little brother was close enough that nothing else could hurt him, until he felt the warm liquid already seeping through his shirt. He really needed to hurry.
“All right Sammy, up we go.”
Dean summoned all of his strength, and attempted to stand. He grunted loudly, but he managed to loop his other arm around Sam’s legs, hoisting him up into a fireman’s carry. They nearly toppled over, and panic shot through him. Thankfully, he quickly regained his balance.
“I gotcha, I gotcha,” he reassured, more so to himself. Not to mention, it just felt like his back nearly gave out. There’s no doubt that the adrenaline rush was the true hero here.
With Sam slumped over his shoulders, he took slow, calculated steps towards the door that they had entered through. Before leaving, Dean shot an icy glare towards the smoldering, charred remains of the Rugaru. “Son of a bitch…” he muttered.
As he reached the Impala, every muscle in his body was burning. He didn’t care. Saving his brother was his only focus. Dean tried to lay Sam down in the back seat as gracefully as possible, but mostly failed. Sam’s long legs dangled out of the car. Within seconds, Dean was breaking open the med kit, grabbing gauze, rags, and a large bottle of rubbing alcohol.
He opened the door opposite of Sam and sat down, gingerly maneuvering his brother’s head to rest on his legs. The back seat currently looked like a crime scene. As a result, Dean couldn’t help but check Sam’s pulse again. It was still present, but weaker than before.
He removed his jacket from Sam’s head, attentively separating pieces of long hair that had caked to the cloth. The wound was an utter mess, and Dean cursed his brother’s lengthy locks. He considered cutting off the hair near the wound, but Sam would probably hate him if he wakes up. Dean bit his lip.
When
he wakes up.
Picking up the rubbing alcohol and rags, he frowned. “You’re lucky you’re not awake for this part,” he noted empathetically. Dean poured nearly the whole bottle over the wound, wiping away blood, dry and wet, in the process. He dirtied nearly all of their rags. Once he cleaned the area, he took a better look at the injury. Surprisingly, although it was wide, it did not seem deep enough to need stitches. He breathed a sigh of relief: his hands were definitely shaking too badly for him to properly stitch up a wound. Before it started gushing again, he wrapped the gauze around Sam’s head and lost count of how many layers. Most likely, he put ten times the amount necessary.
Satisfied with his makeshift treatment, he leaned back. He looked down at Sam and watched as his chest rose and fell with short, shallow breaths. Although he had taken care of the bleeding, he was concerned about internal injuries. Sam hadn’t stirred at all, not even when he used the rubbing alcohol, which surely stung like hell. He was practically just a giant ragdoll. However, only time could tell.
In the meantime, Dean wanted to get Sam back to the motel as soon as possible, where he would be warm, comfortable, clean, and safe. He stepped out of the car, and with some effort, he maneuvered his brother fully inside. Then, Dean flipped him onto his side to allow him to breathe with more ease. Also, he detangled his bloodied jacket and spread it over his motionless body. Dean made a mental note to pack a blanket in the Impala from now on.
The Impala rumbled to life, and Dean adjusted the rearview mirror so he could see Sam. There was one good thing about being in the middle of nowhere in this situation: there was no one on the road to get in his way.
Dean never thought he’d be so grateful to see a seedy motel parking lot. Sam had not made a peep the entire 30 minute ride. Dean’s adrenaline rush had worn off, and he was beyond exhausted. There was no way he would be able to carry his brother again. Linking his arms under Sam’s, he dragged him to their room. He didn’t consider how this must look like a serial killer hauling in his latest kill to any onlookers.
Dean draped Sam across the bed, removed his shoes for him, and struggled to peel off his blood-soaked shirt. Also, he checked his bandages—thankfully, no blood had leaked through—and positioned a plush pillow behind his head. Dean entered the small bathroom to hastily wash his brother’s blood off of his skin, keeping the door open in case Sam awoke.
After changing into a new set of clothes, he wet a washcloth with warm water and pulled over a chair next to Sam’s bed. Gently, he began to wipe the blood off of his brother, which was stark against his pale skin. After he cleaned off all that he could, he slipped Sam into a soft flannel and pulled the sheets over him. Then, he softly brushed a few stray strands of hair out of Sam’s face.
As Dean sat there watching over his brother, he began to think. More specifically, dark thoughts began to eat him alive.
This is my fault. I should have been there next to him. I never should have suggested that we split up. I’m supposed to protect him. I’m such a goddamn failure--I can’t even do that. What would dad think? What if he doesn’t wake up? What if…
Dean felt his eyes begin to burn. He searched for Sam’s hand, and gripped it firmly in his own. Sinking his head onto the bed, waves of self-hatred and guilt continued to wash over him. Eventually, his weary mind gave up, and he drifted into a fitful sleep.
A slight rustling and the feeling of someone moving his hand roused Dean from his slumber. Looking up, he saw Sam and blinked a few times.
Sam’s eyes were open.
Forgetting his drowsiness, Dean shot up straight and broke into a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
Sam stared blankly back at him, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Um, sorry, my hand is cramping,” Sam’s soft voice explained. Dean quickly released his hand, which he hadn’t realized he still had in a death grip. Overcome with euphoric relief, he shook his head.
“C’mere, Sammy,” he beamed. Dean leaned in and wrapped his arms around his brother. Unexpectedly, it felt like he just hugged a wooden board. Instead of reciprocating the embrace, Sam tensed up. Puzzled, as well as concerned, Dean pulled away. “...You okay?”
Sam gave his brother an uneasy smile. “I… uh, sorry, who are you?”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dean was speechless. He gawked at his brother, mouth partially agape. Surely this was some kind of sick joke. But Sam wouldn’t joke about this. Would he?“You’re serious?” he asked doubtingly.Sam shifted awkwardly and gave a slow nod.Dean’s heart dropped. He knew Sam was being honest: after spending nearly their whole lives side-by-side, he gained the ability to sniff out Sam’s lies from a mile away. Hell, he knew if Sam was about to lie even before Sam knew himself. Although he would’ve been pissed, he really wished that Sam was just messing with him.“Well… I’m Dean.” He paused. “I’m your brother.”Sam thought for a moment, as if he was searching for something deep in the back of his mind. Then, he raised the corner of his mouth skeptically. “My brother?”The cluelessness in Sam’s voice pierced Dean clean through his heart. This was not good. If he can’t even remember his own brother, what can he remember?Unsure if he wanted to hear the answer, Dean questioned, “do you know your name?”A pause.“...Sammy?” Sam bluntly repeated the name that he’d heard.Dean would have laughed if it weren’t so pitiful. Instead, he gave his poor brother a worried look. “Your name is Sam Winchester, and you’re my little brother. I, uh, sometimes call you Sammy. But you don’t really like it,” he explained. This was not on the list of things that he ever expected to have to teach his brother. Sam silently mouthed Winchester, testing out a name completely foreign to him. Dean continued, “what is the last thing you can remember?”Sam tilted his head slightly. Separating his eyes from Dean’s, he looked into the distance and knitted his eyebrows. His eyes shifted back and forth for a moment as he desperately sought out any memories. Dean was silently pleading for him to remember something, anything : Stanford, dad, Bobby, their long car rides, any one of their many stupid arguments, or even just that repulsive, healthy smoothie-thing that he drank yesterday.Slowly, Sam locked eyes with his brother again. “I really… can’t remember a single thing.”He looked like a lost puppy. He was scared. Dean didn’t blame him; in fact, he couldn’t imagine how terrifying not knowing your own identity would be. If the situation were reversed, he probably would have already threatened Sam’s life out of sheer confusion. So, Sam was handling this surprisingly well.“I, I mean obviously I know how to talk and walk and breathe and all, but as for everything else that pertains to me—what I enjoy, what I’ve done, who I am —there’s just… nothing,” Sam rambled a bit, a telltale sign that he was full of anxious energy.Dean cleared his throat and tried not to let his own fear seep into his voice. He needed to appear calm and collected, for Sam’s sake. “Well, that’s partially good news, right? At the very least, you didn’t un-learn how to breathe. I’m sure your memories will begin to return if we start doing familiar stuff.” He forced a smile. “How about we start with some questions? I’m sure you have one or two,” he consoled, attempting to lighten the mood. Sam grinned faintly.“Good idea.” Scanning the room, the amnesiac started, “first off, where are we?” “At a shitty motel in the state of Nebraska.”Sam reached up and rubbed his head. “Why does it feel like my head was run over by a truck?”Dean lowered his gaze. “You were in an… accident.”“I’m assuming that’s what caused the amnesia,” Sam deduced, not missing Dean’s reaction. Dean nodded solemnly, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. Sam continued, “what kind of accident?”Dean hesitated. “...We were hunting.”Sam waited for him to elaborate. It was clear that this Dean guy was choosing his words carefully. When he didn’t explain, Sam pressed on: “what animal was it?”Persistent as always, Dean thought. However, Sam was practically a normal civilian right now: Dean didn’t think he could simply reveal the fact that monsters are real, they hunt them for a living, and one just nearly killed him and expect Sam to be a-okay with that. Moreover, he began to reminisce about their childhood, when his little brother cluelessly believed that monsters only existed in made-up stories. He didn’t want Sam to learn about the horrors of the world again. This could be Sam’s one and only chance to get out of the hunter life, and more importantly, avoid a hunter’s demise. His little brother could finally have the normal life that he was supposed to live. He could go back to college, get his law degree, become a fancy lawyer, and— “Dean?”Hell, what was he thinking? This is Sam Winchester. His blissful ignorance would never last long. Demons, witches, shapeshifters—all of them—aren’t going to leave him alone just because he is unaware of what they truly are. In fact, it would likely be the opposite: they’d see a Winchester as an easy target for once. And there’s no way Dean was going to stand by and let his brother get hurt by one of those things again… or worse. He needed to tell Sam the truth.“Dean.”A warm hand on his arm pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Uh, yeah?”“Oh, good, I was starting to think I had your name wrong,” Sam half-joked. He actually began to wonder if this man’s name was Bean, or possibly Sean but pronounced as it should be. Why could he remember how to pronounce Sean but couldn’t recall his own name? Refocusing on the issue at hand, he repeated, “what kind of animal were we hunting?”Dean took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Sammy, listen to me. I know it’s hard to believe, but we weren’t hunting an animal.” He paused to gauge Sam’s reaction so far. Sam simply offered him a perplexed look. No choice but to keep going. “You… know what monsters are, right? Vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and all that?”Sam nodded. “Like from folklore?”His response caught Dean off guard. Sam spent many hours with his nose buried in folklore books before hunts, so if he remembers them, maybe this would be easier than he thought.“Exactly. Except... they’re not just supernatural stories.” Dean dropped the bomb. “These monsters are real, and it’s kind of our family business to hunt them down and kill ‘em.”His brother processed the information for a second, and offered an uncomfortable pity smile. When Dean’s face remained completely serious, the smile dissolved.“...Uh-huh,” Sam murmured, and shifted upwards in the bed.Unsurprisingly, Sam wasn’t having it. “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but maybe you’ll recall something if I remind you.” As much as he hated the idea of bringing up unpleasant events from the past, there was a much better chance of Sam remembering traumatizing occurrences. And if it would prove to his brother that he’s not insane, then… “Remember Jessica? Your college girlfriend. The yellow-eyed demon burned her alive, the same way he killed mom?”Sam’s eyes flicked towards the door and back. He would have to be harsher, then, Dean decided.“What about when you didn’t listen to your big brother and freed Lucifer from the cage in Hell?” Dean pressed. Sam’s face contorted with skeptical bewilderment.“Okay, what? Even if you weren’t out of your mind, I wouldn’t do something like that. I know that much,” Sam retorted indignantly. At least his morals are still intact, Dean silently noted. Still, he had to keep pushing. If Sam can just remember one thing, he’d regain his trust. It would be a huge step in getting back the brother that he knows and loves.He continued, “maybe so. But you tried to make up for it. You’ve been to Hell and back, literally. You know, years of torture at the hands of the devil and an archangel? Kind of hard to forget, right?”Suddenly, Sam rolled his eyes and threw the bed sheets off of himself. He swiftly stood up and wobbled a little, undoubtedly nearly blacking out, then made a beeline for the motel door. Dean jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair.“Sam, wait,” he pleaded as he rushed after him. He grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “Hear me out—”Sam whipped around to face him. “Why should I listen to you? I just woke up without a memory in my head. Instead of helping me figure out who I am, you decide to spew weird fantasy stories and confuse me even further, which I didn’t think was possible. I don’t even know who you are. I don’t even know if you’re actually my brother.” Dean involuntarily flinched at that. “I’m not going to let you waste any more of my time. I’ll figure this out on my own,” Sam huffed.As Sam gripped the doorknob, Dean maneuvered himself between his brother and the door, halting his flight. Sam glared at him, looking like he was seconds away from shoving Dean out of the way. Out of desperation, Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders. He needed to get through to him, now.“I know you’re afraid, and you’re frustrated, Sammy. And I know you have no reason to trust me. But if you give me a chance, I can prove that I’m not bullshitting you,” he earnestly declared. Sam remained silent, considering the stranger in front of him. “If you walk out this door, you’ll be in danger.” Dean added, quieter, “I just got you back. I don’t want to lose you again.”Sam was taken aback. He had not expected the raw emotion present in Dean. Although he may not know anything about him, he could tell that that he was being completely genuine. A strange feeling of… something akin to guilt washed over him. Brother or not, it seemed this guy had good intentions, at least. Also, it would be easier to recover his memories around someone who (allegedly) knew his past. He was trying to think rationally, but trusting a lunatic who believes in monsters didn’t seem very rational, either. But what choice did he really have? He let out a small sigh. “All right, all right,” Sam conceded. Dean backed off a bit, but he still guarded the door. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but what is this… this supernatural proof that you have?”