so, This is the sequel to Your Mind Tricked You to Feel the Pain, i guess i would really have to say you have to read the other one first or this won't make a lick of sense to you...i wanted to wait to post this until i was pretty far along in writing it, so here it now is...as always thanks for reading!! lots of angst, pain and craziness ahead...you've been warned!! bambers;)
The Things We Forget
Chapter One
"Not givin' up on him, Bobby," Dean said determinedly, shaking Sam a little harder. "Listen to me, Sammy, you have to wake up now. Ain't gonna let you do this to yourself." Dean shook him even harder. "Damn it, I know you can hear me so wake the hell up," he ordered, using his most authoritative tone. Slowly, Sam's eyelids fluttered open briefly then closed again. "That's it, you can do it, don't let the sonuvabitches win. You fight them, you hear me, Sammy? You fight them for me."
Once again, Sam's eyes opened and this time stayed that way. With a great deal of effort, he pushed away from Dean to sit on his own. Sam turned to look at Dean then his attention briefly diverted to Bobby before he glanced back at Dean again, eyes narrowing considerably. Confusion and then a look of anger settled on Sam's face, and for a moment, Dean wondered if Sam even knew who he was.
"Sam?" Dean questioned, not liking how quiet his brother was when he knew that Sam should be saying something. And the truth of it was, he really needed to hear his brother speak, to know that he was all right. "You okay, Sammy?"
Without a word, Sam pushed himself to his feet, headed for the door, opened it and strode through it, calling back over his shoulder, "Name's Bo."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean shot to his feet and raced after Sam, not understanding all that was going on, but knowing that Sam was in no condition to be left on his own. As he practically stumbled down the first flight of steps in the Roosevelt Asylum, he heard Bobby calling after him, but didn't slow up in the least. Quickly rounding the landing, he took the second set of stairs two at a time, praying all-the-while that Sam wouldn't make it to the entrance before he was able to reach him. With heart pounding in his ears, he leapt off the last of the stairs and sprinted through the old abandoned building.
"Sammy," he shouted as he dodged past toppled over beds, gurneys, wheel chairs, and various other medical equipment. Knocking things out of the way as he went, Dean barged through the double doors leading out of the patient recreation area of the asylum, and practically flew through the old admit area of the hospital, heading straight for the exit. Within a matter of moments, he burst through the front doors of the Asylum, and slammed straight into Sam, nearly knocking his younger brother down.
Sam quickly righted himself, pushing away from Dean as he glanced around the empty street and the buildings lining the road as if he hadn't ever seen them before. His apparent confusion grew as he spun on his heel to look at the Asylum, and then he lowered his sights to Dean. "Hey, ya got a cigarette I could bum off ya?"
Dean cocked a brow, staring in disbelief at his little brother. "You don't smoke . . . never have."
"What the hell are ya takin' about, boy, been smokin' fer years." Sam fumbled through the pockets of his hoodie, searching for a pack of cigarettes, but instead yanked out his cell phone. "What the bloody freakin' hell is this?" He held it out to Dean, and waited for Dean to respond.
"Ummm . . . your cell phone," Dean replied as if the answer should be obvious.
"Right," Sam uttered with a note of clear sarcasm as he flipped the phone open, and pushed a few buttons. His hazel eyes narrowed in fear and confusion as he put the phone to his ear and heard a voice coming through from the other end of the phone line. "What the freakin' hell," he hastily threw the phone to the ground. "Holy freakin' hell," he crossed himself as if he were the most devote Catholic, and then stomped on the phone, smashing itinto pieces. "Holy Mother of God . . . that freakin' thing was possessed an ya jus' let me go an' dial up Hell." He crossed himself again as he mumbled the rosary.
"You feelin' okay, Sammy?" Dean stared at the broken pieces of his brother's phone, and then his gaze strayed upward to Sam, and the look of sheer panic on his little brother's face nearly staggered him.
"Told ya already, name's Bo. You a freakin' dumb ass or somethin'?"Sam shifted to look at the asylum once more, and then a smile lit up his face. "Ahhh . . . yer one of the loons . . . got off the crazy train a bit early there, eh, Sparkie?" He chuckled, and although Dean knew it was Sam the sound of his brother's laughter somehow seemed different. And if he had to make a guess as to why, he'd have to say that his laugh sounded hollow and cold, lacking the warmth he knew would normally be present in his brother's laughter. "I'm thinkin' ya better be headin' back inside cause I'm guessin' they got some electric shock therapy with yer name written all over it."
"Look . . . Bo," Dean began only to be interrupted by the creaking sound of the front door of the asylum being swung open. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Bobby hobbling out the entrance, and then turned back to look at his brother. "You and me," he gestured between the two of them, "we're friends. You got knocked on the head, an' have a concussion an' the doctor's said your memory might be a bit fuzzy for a bit."
"Uh huh . . . sure." Sam crossed his arms as he narrowed his sights on Dean. "If we're such good freakin' buddies, where was I born?"
"In a hospital," Dean quickly supplied, although he knew it wasn't the answer Sam was looking for, but also understood that Lawrence, Kansas wasn't going to be the right answer either.
"Pikeville, Kentucky, smart ass." Sam touched the area just above his right eyebrow, and then asked, "An' this scar? Sure'in if yer my friend, ya'd know where I got this lil' bugger."
Dean squinted to get a better look at Sam's face and the imaginary scar that was supposedly there, his mind racing to find a reasonable explaination that his brother would accept, but couldn't find any. "Fell off your bike when you were ten?" he finally responded, figuring that was as good of reason as any to have a scar.
"Spelunkin' Mammoth Cave when I was fifteen. Ropes got tangled an' I cracked my skull on the wall of the cave . . . musta hung there fer a good five freakin' hours before my Paw finally found me. Whooped my ass a good one fer disobeyin' him, too. But sure'in ya'd know that cause we're such good friends an' all."
"Dean," Bobby cut in before Dean had a chance to reply, pulling him away from Sam so he could talk to him in private. Before Bobby said another word, he handed Dean two books, and then gestured to the worn leather-bound cover of the top one. "Nod sure whad you remember aboud whad happened, bud I don't think Sabm's possessed." He gingerly touched his broken nose, and winced. "Sabm used these books ta bring ya back, an' one of the firsd things you said was they were all gone." He tapped his finger on the top book, and then glanced over at Sam. "Yer Daddy took thebm from some lady nabmed Mildred, an' I'm figurin' they might helb with Sabm."
"My Dad?" Dean raised a brow, and then tilted his head to the side, looking toward the entrance of the asylum. "He's here? Inside? Maybe he can talk some sense into Sammy." He made to walk back toward the door, but Bobby grabbed a hold of his arm and stopped him.
Bobby stared at Dean long and hard for several minutes before he finally asked, "Whad's today's date, Dean?"
Dean thought about it for a moment, never much one for keeping track of the date, and then shrugged. "Think it's November 22nd or maybe the 23rd."
Bobby gave a curt nod. "An' the year?"
"2005," he said without hesitation.
Bobby frowned, wincing as he lightly touched his bruised and swollen lips. "How aboud the last hunt you were on?"
Dean arched a brow, staring at the older man for a moment before he gestured to the building behind them. "Ummm . . . we're standing right outside the building of our last hunt. Burnt Ellicott's bones not more than a half an hour ago, Bobby."
"It's August 30th 2006," Bobby declared without any sort of preamble.
"Not possible," Dean said with a quick shake of his head, narrowing his eyes on the older hunter, worried that Bobby was hurt worse than he appeared if that were even possible. "Might forget the dates sometimes, but I'm thinkin' I know what year it is."
"Yer both freakin' loons," Sam scoffed, rolling his eyes as both men swung to stare him. "All freakin' people who ain't from planet freakin' Crazy-as-a-Jay-bird know it's April 4th 1963."
"Look, I'm gonna call my Dad," Dean yanked his cell phone out of his pocket, his attention momentarily diverted to Sam as his brother shrunk away from the demon phone from Hell, and chuckled as he hit the button to call his father.
Bobby snatched the phone out of his hand, and quickly snapped it shut. "Can'd do dhat, D-Dean." Bobby wobbled precariously, and Dean hastily grabbed hold of the older man's arm in an attempt to keep him from crashing to the ground.
"Better get you to the hospital, Bobby." Dean vision strayed to Bobby's truck that was wrapped around a light pole, and briefly wondered why he hadn't heard the crash. "An' then I'll take care of Bo."
"As long as we can stop on the way there ta get me some smokes, I'm fine with that plan." Sam gave a quick nod and then glanced around the deserted street. "Ya got a car, Sparkie?"
"Over there," Dean nudged his head toward the Impala as he hooked his arm around Bobby's waist. "An' the name's Dean."
"Whatever, Sparkie." Sam let out a low whistle of appreciation as he strode over to the car. "Like yer car, dude. Never saw anythin' like it before." Trailing his fingers over the hood of the car, he glanced up at Dean and smiled. "Love ta get me a car like this one. Musta cost ya a freakin' fortune."
"Dad gave it to me." Dean glanced up quickly from helping Bobby into the backseat of the Impala, and couldn't help but grin as he looked over baby. "She is a beaut, huh."
"Yer Paw must be freakin' loaded ta get ya a car like this."
"Not exactly." Dean shut the back door and was about to slide into his own seat, when Sam caught a hold of his arm.
"Think I could drive?"
"Not a chance in hell." Dean shrugged free, slid into his seat, and slammed the door shut.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean followed Sam around the convenient store, amazed at how his brother would stare at little things like he'd never seen them before in his life. Several times his younger brother stopped picked something up and studied it carefully, before scowling and throwing it back on the shelf.
Sam grabbed a pack of peanut M&M's from the shelf, flipped them over, narrowed his eyes at the price, and then glanced up at Dean. "Holy freakin' Mother of God, prices have sky-rocketed since Kennedy was elected. Man's gonna drive us all into the poor house." He tossed the bag down, and Dean quickly snatched it back up again.
"Yep, all Kennedy's fault," Dean agreed as he ripped open the bag and popped a few pieces of candy in his mouth.
Sam wandered over to the coolers lined with soda and beer, opened the door and grabbed a bottle of Coke. "Sparkie, what the hell is Coke classic? Where's the regular Coke, an' why the freakin' hell is it in a plastic bottle?"
"Classic Coke is regular Coke," Dean heaved an aggravated groan, "An' can we jus' get the hell outta here, my head's killin' me what with Bobby in the hospital an' all the freakin' questions you're throwin' at me."
"Whatever, dude," Sam smirked as he twisted off the cap on the bottle of soda, and gulped some of it down. "Still thinkin' they let yer sorry ass out of Roosevelt a little too early."
In silence, they headed over to the cash register. Sam gestured toward the cigarettes kept in a case behind the counter, and then grinned at the young blond-haired girl waiting on him. "Pack of Marlboro's, sweetheart." His grin deepened as the pretty, blue-eyed girl smiled back at him, her face blushing sweetly under his intense scrutiny. "An' one of them lighters, too. Can't seem ta find mine."
"Sure thing, hun." She turned away to get Sam the cigarettes, and he elbowed Dean as he tilted his head slightly and let out a low whistle.
"Hot damn, if I didn't already have me a girl, I'd be all over that." He elbowed Dean in the ribcage again, an' nudged his head toward her as if Dean failed to see how beautiful the young girl truly was. "Kinda like she's dinner an' I'm a starvin' man."
"More like she's jail bait, an' you're about to be cell mates with some guy named Big Ed who thinks you're really kinda hot." Dean was about to say more when his vision strayed to a newspaper lying on the counter, and he nearly choked on the M&M he'd just popped into his mouth. Snatching it off the counter, he stared in utter disbelief at the date on the top corner of the page. "That can't be freakin' right," he muttered to himself as he read August 30th 2006. "Excuse me," he managed to choke out, garnering the cashier's attention. "What's today's date?"
"Think it's August 30th," she answered as she rang up Sam's cigarettes.
"Wh-what year?"
She arched a delicate brow as she looked at Dean and then Sam. Sam rolled his eyes, twirling his index finger around the side of his temple, and then nudged his head in Dean's direction. The cashier nodded in understanding and returned her attention to Dean.
"2006," she said and took a backward step as both the Winchesters' jaws dropped wide open.