A universe in which;

Dean is a pianist, struggling to cope with amnesia and the case of his missing brother.
Castiel is Dean's best friend/ boyfriend Dean can't remember.
Where Sam is on the run after crossing too many dangerous lines.
And where Bobby somehow became a psychiatrist.


Rain tapped away at the glass, keeping in time with the piano melody that danced out of the slightly open window. Each note perfect, the gentle song sounding like spring and the pianist never faltering as the pace picked up and the melody changed. It stopped it's dance and sifted into a sombre song, filled with loneliness and pain. Still each note was, perfect. Not a single beat was missed as the melody slowed dying in the most gentle of ways.

The music ended.

Dean Winchester got up from the piano in the centre of his apartment, heading over to the coffee machine. He stopped as his gaze fell upon a photo hanging on the wall, it was of him, when he was young. Next him was another boy, younger, his grin wide and happy with his arm around Dean's shoulder. A shiver ran up Dean's spine and he quickly moved on. He grabbed his caffeine and returned to his piano, adding new notes to his sheets of music.
He hadn't noticed that it was raining, too absorbed in his work.

This was how Dean, all too often, spent his nights. He knew his piano better than he knew his bed. Sleep had been avoiding him for some time now and Dean had decided it was better to do something than to wait for sleep to come crawling back to him.
Dean drank his coffee and his fingers met keys once more and another melody began to dance it's way out of the sightly open window.


A knocking on the door make Dean's eyes shoot open, he blinked slowly waking up. He found himself still at his piano, he'd fallen asleep on it again. The knocking continued.

''Dean? Are you awake?''

Dean shuffled his music sheets, and tried to make himself look like he didn't just wake up. ''Yeah I'm up! Door's open!''

A man in a trenchcoat, with messy hair let himself in and frowned disapprovingly at the sight in front of him. ''You slept at the piano again.''

Dean laughed heading into his bedroom for a change of clothes, ''What makes you say that,Cas buddy?''

He simply shakes his head as an answer, '' We're going to be late.'' Castiel scanned the apartment it was messy but he had expected that. As always the only place the mess didn't touch was Dean's beloved piano. Photos hung on nearly all of the walls but most of them were flipped around, Castiel presumed that they were mostly of Dean and his brother when they were younger and probably a few were of him and Dean together. An unpleasant smell reached his nose and he decides to investigate at a later date. ''Dean? We need to get going.''

Dean now slightly more presentable shoves Castiel out the door, ''Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've got it. Chill.'' Dean locks the door behind him. ''What are we late for again?''

Castiel groans, ''Dean. You know what we're going to be late for. There's no avoiding it.''

''Cas, I don't know-'' Dean cuts himself off, mentally and physically shaking himself.
Castiel being a few steps ahead of Dean doubles back, resisting the urge to bring Dean in close, he simply pats his shoulder giving a 'everything will be okay' smile.

Both men exit the apartment building and opted to walk rather than hail a taxi. Dean walked with one hand in his pocket the other tapping a ever growing melody on his thigh, Castiel walked nearly the same, his free hand steadying the satchel that hung over his shoulder.
His eyes drifted across to watch Dean, noticing he still had the same tapping habit that would drive him crazy when they were together. He didn't hate it much any more, he missed it. He missed the mess Dean would leave in his wake and he missed watching Dean play. Not in concerts or anything like that, he missed watching him late at night when Dean was just playing the melody pouring out. The way Dean would smile at him when he caught Cas enchanted by every note. Castiel sighed and rubbed his eyes, the sense of longing threatening to push him over the edge.

''Did you eat breakfast?'' No response, ''Dean.'' Castiel tapped him.

''Huh? Sorry, what were you saying?'' Cas started to repeat his question but Dean cut in, ''Damn, I'm hungry.'' The smell of food teasing his nose.
Cas rolled his eyes and opened his satchel, handing Dean a bacon and blue cheese bagel and inwardly laughing at the way Dean's eyes lit up like kid at Christmas.

The next for minutes were taken up with Dean shoving bagel into his mouth.

''This is heaven, how did you come up with this?'' Dean tossed the last few pieces into his mouth, making no effort to have any sort of eating manners as he licked his fingers.

Cas laughed out loud this time, ''I didn't. You did.''

Dean broke out into a smile, ''I'm so awesome.''

The two laughed with each other the rest of the way, Dean now thinking he was a world class chef coming up with crazy sandwich combinations that Castiel had apparently agreed to taste when he got around to actually making them.

They eventually arrived at a small building, a metal plaque was next to the door reading- Robert Singer, Psychiatrist. 2nd floor.

''Please tell me, how this is going to help. We've already established that I can't remember anything, nothing at all. So what's-''

''Do you want to remember?'' Castiel was holding the door open, waiting for Dean.

Dean remained still, he ran his hands through his hair ''Of course I do, but I don't see what talking to some, Robert guy is going to fix anything.''
Dean did hate not being able to remember, he had tried. He tried to remember how Castiel fitted into his life, he tried to remember his brother but no matter how hard he searched through and fell through the labyrinth of his mind the only thing he could remember was playing piano. At least it made him a living. His eyes met Castiel's and he sighed, ''One session, if this guy is a total douche I'm walking out.''

''Only one way to find out.'' Castiel waited for Dean to walk in, and followed behind.


''Amnesia 'ey? That's gotta suck for you.'' The man speaking was somewhat gruff, he sat in an armchair with a notebook and pen in hand with an overall scruffy aura around him. The room on first glance seemed pretty well cared for, but on a closer analysis one would see books upside down and stacked on each other in nearly every book shelf. Coffee rings decorated the table in the centre of the room and a collection of coffee mugs all with various amounts of liquid in were slowly beginning to take over the desk in the corner.

Dean shifted in his chair, his nervous energy building up. He began to tap a familiar tune against his thigh, relaxing a tiny bit. ''Yeah, well not much I can really do about that.''

The man raised an eyebrow, ''You can go to therapy by the looks of thinks.''

Dean leaned forward in his chair, ''Look, Robert? It's Robert, right?.'' He didn't bother waiting for an answer. ''This wasn't really my idea, I was dragged along by my um, friend or boyfriend or whatever. So can we just sit for a few minutes and pretend this went terrible. I don't have to be treated like an idiot and you don't have to waste your time on me. Sound good?''

''It's Bobby.'' Bobby wrote a few words in his notebook; Blunt, Head strong, Probably prone to being stupid.
''Wow, you really need this. I'm not complaining, I love someone I don't have to tiptoe around.'' He closed his notebook, ''Listen here, you can stop with the 'I don't need nobody, I can look after myself thing'. Like it or not you need help, your head's pretty damaged. Maybe everything will come back over time, that's certainly possible. Then again while you're waiting for everything to come flooding back your brother could walk right past you and you wouldn't know. So I suggest you talk, I listen and we might start getting somewhere.''

For a moment Dean was in silence, as is if Robert Singer had summoned a salmon and slapped him in the face with it before growing wings and jumping of of the window. Dean pursed his lips and made an annoyed face, before sighing and giving in.
''Okay.''


Far from New york, in a run down motel Sam Winchester lay awake. A woman lay asleep next to him, her dark hair covering her face. But Sam was up, his eyes staring into space as he came down from yet another high. Childhood memories flashed across his vision, partnered with more recent memories. The night everything happened; the night he ran away and left his brother bleeding on the pavement.
Dean was okay, he'd been told that. Shown proof. Dean was better off without him.
Still, Sam remembered the helpless look in Dean's eyes when he realised Sam didn't want to come back with him. That he was about to lose him.
Sam rolled over, he felt tired and his eyes began to feel heavy. Before sleep took hold he whispered to himself, ''I'll come back, Dean. Soon.''

Then, the youngest Winchester fall far into sleep. As the eldest lay awake, unable to find peace.