The familiar chords to Deep Purple's 'Smoke On The Water' trilled out in the silent motel room, waking Dean from a sound sleep.

Groaning, irritated at being woken up in the middle of the night, the hunter grabbed his cell phone off the nightstand and peered blearily at the screen.

He didn't recognize the number shining out from the display and was just about to decline the call when he decided against it.

Maybe it's someone who needs help, he thought even though most people phoned his Dad's cell if they were dealing with a monster problem.

Pressing the green 'Accept' button, Dean brought the phone to his ear, glancing over at John snoring loudly in the bed next to his.

"Yeah?" he answered before the person on the other end could speak.

"Is this Dean Winchester?" a tired female voice asked.

"Uh huh," he replied, "What's up?"

"I'm calling to inform you that Sam Winchester has been involved in a serious car accident and is currently at El Camino Hospital."

Dean blinked, unsure if he'd heard the woman correctly.

"What?" he asked, "Sammy's in the hospital?"

"Yes," the woman replied calmly, probably used to having to call patient's family members in the middle of the night, "He is at El Camino Hospital in Mountain View. Are you close by?"

"Uh," Dean glanced again at his father, his heart rate increasing.

Sam was in the hospital. There had been some sort of accident. Sam was hurt.

"Don't worry about that," Dean told her, "We'll get there."

"All right, do you-" the woman began but Dean interrupted her.

"What happened? Is Sammy okay?" he demanded, his sharp tone waking his father.

"Dean? Who're you talking to?" John mumbled, peering blearily at his eldest son.

"All I can tell you right now is that he is in surgery," the woman told him.

"Surgery," Dean muttered out loud.

"Who's in surgery?" John asked, "Dean, what's going on? Who's on the phone?"

Dean, without speaking again to the woman, ended the call and stared across the darkened room at his father.

"Sammy's in trouble."

W

They drove all night to reach Mountain View, California. They took the Impala, leaving John's truck in the parking lot of the motel. Dean insisted on driving and disregarded the posted speed limits, wanting nothing more than to reach his brother who now seemed so far away from him.

John badgered Dean with questions every ten minutes or so despite the fact that his eldest son knew no more than he did.

"I don't know, Dad! Okay? I don't know any more than you do!" Dean snapped, not taking his eyes off the road after an hour of John trying to get answers from Dean that his son did no have.

John remained silent for the rest of the trip to the hospital.

Just as the sun was rising above the horizon, red and gold, the two eldest Winchesters parked in the lot in front of the Emergency entrance to the El Camino hospital.

Shoving the keys to the Impala in his pocket, Dean strode across the asphalt and through the sliding glass doors in the plain brown, single-story building, John right on his heels.

The interior of the hospital was decorated in muted, calming colours. The floor was cream-coloured granite tiles, the walls painted a light grey, the front desk pale yellow interspersed with tiles in varying shades of blue.

Dean walked right up to the desk and peered over at the nurse dressed in lime green scrubs working away at a computer on the other side.

"Sam Winchester," Dean barked, "Where is he?"

The nurse looked up, nonplussed.

"Are you family?" she asked.

"I'm his brother," Dean told her, "And this is our Dad."

The nurse's gaze slid to the right to take in the eldest Winchester.

"Let me just check his status," she told them, "Please have a seat."

The last thing Dean wanted to do was to sit down and wait but John grabbed his arm and pulled him towards a row of connected chairs upholstered in brown fabric.

"Calm down, Dean," John muttered to him, "We won't be able to help Sam if we get kicked out."

Dean wanted to snap at his Dad and say that there was no way he could calm down when the woman on the phone had told him his little brother was in surgery but he kept his mouth shut. John was right. These people were helping his brother. He shouldn't be picking fights with them.

He just wanted to know what the hell had happened to his brother last night.

The nurse behind the desk caught his attention and both Dean and John stood up, making their way towards her.

"It looks like your brother left surgery early this morning and he's not in the ICU."

Dean's heart skipped a beat and his mouth suddenly seemed unbearably dry.

"Where's that?" John asked.

The nurse gave them directions and told them to check in with the staff there because a doctor would want to see them right away.

Dean and John looked at each other, both noticing fear in the other's eyes, but said nothing and followed the path described by the nurse to the Intensive Care Unit.

W

Dean forced himself not to run down the hallways, telling himself that he needed to remain calm for Sam's sake.

Eventually they made it to the ICU. John approached the desk, which was very similar to the one in Emergency but that it was made of blonde pine.

"I'm Sam Winchester's father," John told the nurse, "We were told he was here."

Dean stood back and listened as his father talked. He glanced around the area, noting that it was empty except for a young man sleeping in a corner. He had dark, disheveled hair, and was wearing a brown sweater, blue jeans and dirty white sneakers. There was a bandage above his right eyebrow.

Dean looked up when his father approached him.

"Is Sam okay? What did the nurse say?" he asked John instantly.

"Sam's doctor is going to come and talk to us before we can go see him."

Dean took a deep, steadying breath and nodded, "Okay… yeah, that's all right."

The two hunters had just sat down on the light blue upholstered chairs- John sparing a curious glance at the young man in the corner- when a doctor stepped out from between a set of swinging double doors.

"Family of Sam Winchester?" he asked and the hunters nodded, introducing themselves.

"What happened?" John asked, "Dean said Sam was in a car accident."

The doctor nodded, "He was. The driver lost control and the car flipped over a number of times before heading into oncoming traffic and coming to a rest in a ditch at the side of the road."

"Is Sam okay?" Dean asked, his heart hammering in his chest.

The doctor peered at the young man in the corner of the waiting area and raised a hand, "Let's talk in privacy, shall we?"

As he shepherded the Winchesters towards the swinging double doors he paused to speak with the nurse.

"What's he still doing here?"

The nurse looked up, "He's not causing any trouble. He just wants to know that his friend is okay."

"Well that will be at the discretion of the family to let him know," the doctor commented stiffly, "But I want him gone by this afternoon, you hear me? The girl's parents are supposed to come today and I don't want him here when they arrive."

"Yes doctor," the nurse replied before returning to her work.

"What was that about?" Dean asked the doctor as they walked through the doors together.

The man, however, ignored him and steered them to a grey couch in what seemed like an antechamber to the ICU. There was also a table with a number of well-read magazines sitting on top of it, a coffee maker with paper cups, packets of sugar and milk in one corner and prints of flowers on the walls. Directly across from the swinging doors was a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass with a single door set into it; the Winchesters could not see into the room beyond because someone had drawn curtains to shield the view.

"Would you like anything? Coffee?" the doctor asked but both hunters shook their heads.

"We just want to know how Sam is," Dean insisted.

The doctor sighed and looked at the Winchesters, his expression grim.

"Sam is in serious condition," he explained, "He suffered a head injury in the crash, broken ribs, a broken leg and a punctured lung."

Dean felt as though the floor had suddenly vanished from beneath him and he sat down abruptly on the couch behind him.

"We have all of Sam's injuries taken care of," the doctor assured them, in layman's terms, "But our concern right now is the head trauma. It isn't the worst injury I've seen but it isn't simply a concussion either. We have given Sam something to relieve the pressure of his swelling brain but we won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up."

"Can we see him?" Dean asked before the doctor could tell them any more.

"Of course," the doctor walked them to the door set into the glass wall and opened it, drawing the curtains away.

Sam was the only patient in the room. Surrounded by machines that beeped and whirred, he looked incredibly small.

Dean rushed to his little brother's side and brushed his siblings hair away from his brow, grimacing at the swelling and bruises on Sam's face. An oxygen mask obscured the lower half of his brother's face, the machine it attached to helping him breathe with his punctured lung.

John's approach was slowly, he seemed hesitant to go to his son's side but, when Dean looked up at him, he saw his father was staring at Sam.

He hasn't seen Sammy since he left for Stanford, Dean thought, nearly four years ago.

"Sammy," John spoke quietly, tears in his dark eyes. He came to stand on the opposite side of the bed from Dean and picked up his youngest son's hand, the one without the IV line in it.

Dean lowered his face close to his brother's and whispered, as though expecting Sam to answer.

"What happened last night?"

W

Although they wanted to stay, they had been driving all night. Needing at least to get something to eat and drink, John and Dean left Sam, the younger hunter promising his brother they would return.

Stepping through the double doors, Dean noticed right away that the young man who had been snoozing in the corner was awake now and talking to the nurse behind the desk.

"Why not? I'm his friend!" the young man was saying, his tone almost frantic, "Can't you at least let me know how he's doing?"

"I'm sorry," the nurse responded calmly though with exasperation in her voice and Dean had the idea that she had gone over this with the young man before, "You are not family, you can't go in without permission from them."

As she spoke, the nurse's gaze found the two eldest Winchesters. The young man whipped around and he looked at them for a long moment before moving forward.

"You're Sam's family," he said, unquestioning.

"Uh yeah," Dean replied, John moving towards the coffee machine on the other side of the room, "Brady… Brady… Sam's friend."

The young man looked almost panicked. He stood wringing his hands together and staring hungrily into Dean's face.

"Is Sam okay? How badly is he hurt? Will he be coming back to school?"

Dean frowned at the younger man.

"Who did you say you were?"

"Brady," the kid responded, "Sam's friend from school. Didn't he tell you about me?"

"Sam hasn't talked to me in nearly four years," Dean snapped and turned his back on the boy.

The doors that led to the main part of the hospital opened and the doctor appeared, catching sight of Brady and glared at him.

"I thought you were told to leave?" he asked the kid.

"I just want to know if my friend's okay? What's wrong with that?" Brady responded becoming less twitchy and more angry.

"There is something wrong with that when you were driving the car that caused the accident," the doctor lost his composure and growled.

"What!?" John snapped, dropping his paper cup of coffee and splashing it all over the floor and his pants.

The elder Winchester ignored the mess on the floor and strode towards Brady, "You… You were driving when my son… what did you do?!"

"I lost control of the car! I couldn't do anything! I'm sorry!" Brady exclaimed, wringing his hands again.

"Doctor!" the nurse called over the noise, "Mr. and Mrs. Moore are here!"

"Oh not now," the doctor muttered and swept out of the room and into the hallway that led to the main part of the hospital.

"Were you drinking? Were you on drugs?" John growled at Brady, stalking closer and closer to him until he had the young man pinned against the nurse's desk.

"No! No, I wasn't, sir! Honest! The roads were wet! It had been raining earlier and the car slid-" Brady cried, raising his hands to protect himself because John looked about ready to punch him.

A wail of anguish stopped the young man mid-sentence and Dean took off out the doors to see what was wrong.

A middle-aged woman with curly blonde hair was grabbing the front of a grey-haired man who was undoubtedly her husband. He wrapped her arms around her as she cried and stared unbelievingly at the doctor who had just given her the news no parent ever wishes to receive.

"No, no, please," the woman sobbed into her husband's chest, "Not Jessica, not our daughter, please…"

The man murmured to his wife as the doctor told them how sorry he was for his loss.

The doctor turned and saw Dean.

"She was in the car with your brother," he told him quietly, "She didn't make it."

Before Dean and the doctor could enter the ICU waiting room, two uniformed security guards rushed through the doors ahead of them.

Oh shit, Dad what did you do? Dean thought as he entered the room, expecting to see John throwing punches but instead he saw Brady pinned against the nurse's desk, demanding to know what he'd done wrong.

"I just want to see my friend! I just want to know if he's okay! Why won't you tell me if he's okay?"

The two guards lifted the young man with ease and escorted him from the room, his voice echoing all the way down the hallway.

"I'm very sorry about that," the nurse told the Winchesters, "He's been hanging around since your son was brought in."

Neither hunter was thinking about food anymore and they returned to Sam's bedside, sitting on either side of their injured family member, speaking quietly.

"What happened out there?" John asked Dean, peering over his shoulder towards the door.

"I guess they had a girl with them in the car," Dean explained, "The doctor told her parents she had died."

John nodded and looked sadly at his youngest son.

Reaching out, the father took hold of his child's hand again and gently squeezed the fingers.

W

Dean picked at his lukewarm macaroni and cheese disinterestedly, unable to force himself to eat. He just wasn't hungry. He couldn't stop thinking about his brother. What exactly had happened in that car the night before? Was that kid, Brady, telling the truth when he said the road had been slick? He'd seemed just a bit too twitchy to be telling the truth- or at least the whole truth.

John sat across from his eldest son at a small Formica-topped table in the hospital's café, a hamburger sitting uneaten in front of him, a steaming cup of coffee waiting patiently to impart its caffeine on the hunter.

"Let's go back," John suggested, picking up his coffee.

Dean didn't have to be asked twice; he stood and grabbed the can of Red Bull he had picked up from the vending machine in a corner of the café earlier.

As they returned to the ICU Sam's doctor met them in the waiting area.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked immediately, peering behind the man at the door to the room where his brother lay.

"While you were out, I did some quick tests and the swelling in Sam's brain has gone down dramatically since last night," the doctor told them with a thin smile, "I am keeping him on the medication until the swelling is down completely but I think he should be waking up soon."

Dean's eyes widened and he bustled past the doctor in his eagerness to see his brother awake and alert.

"Sammy!" Dean cried as he stepped into his sibling's room, expecting his brother to speak his name in response. Instead, Sam lay quiet and still, the only sounds were the beeping of the heart monitor, the dripping of the IV fluid into the line, the whoosh of the machine helping his brother breathe.

Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see John standing behind him.

"We need to be patient," he murmured.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his short hair.

"I know, it's just…" he paused.

"I know," John agreed, "I missed him too."

W

Something was touching Dean's face while he was trying to sleep. Irritated, he brushed the thing away and prepared to fall into the oblivion of slumber.

Again the thing started touching his face, his cheek, his forehead, gently, inquisitively almost.

Unable to sleep while this was going on, Dean opened his eyes and found himself looking into his brother's hazel ones.

"SAM!" Dean cried and sat straight up, his brother's hand falling back onto the blankets.

"Sammy!" Dean felt tears well up in his eyes, "Sam, you're awake, you're okay, you're awake."

Sam's eyes never left Dean's face but something was wrong, the older brother sensed it.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, "Hey, Sammy? You okay?"

Then, Dean saw it and his heart dropped. There was no recognition in his brother's gaze.

Wordlessly, Dean stood and walked to the door to Sam's room and looked out. There was a different nurse behind the desk this time and she looked up when she heard the door open.

"My brother's awake," Dean told her dully before stepping out into the waiting area.

"I'll get the doctor," the nurse told him and picked up a telephone.

Dean didn't know what to do. Sam didn't recognize him. He didn't know him; his big brother, the one who had been there to see his first steps, who'd potty trained him, who taught him how to drive… all of that was gone. Maybe forever.

The door to the ICU and John stepped inside, holding two large cups of coffee. He stopped when he saw Dean.

"Is everything okay?" he asked hesitantly.

"Sam's awake," Dean muttered.

The look of relief on his father's face was almost painful to witness but Dean continued anyway. Better to hear it from him than the doctor.

"Sam doesn't know me."

"What? What do you mean?" John asked, frowning. "Did you talk to him?"

Dean shook his head, "It was in his eyes… I could tell. He doesn't… doesn't know me…"

John offered one of the coffees to his eldest son, "It could be temporary. Or it could just be all the medications he's taking. Let's wait until the doctor gets here."

Dean took the offered beverage and took a large gulp, burning his tongue and not caring.

Moments later, the doctor did arrive and went straight into Sam's room, followed closely by John and Dean.

The doctor bent over Sam, shining a light in his eyes to test his pupils, asked him to squeeze his fingers as hard as he could, moved down to the end of the bed and asked the young man to point his toes to the sky and then press them against his hands like he was pressing down on a gas pedal.

"The tests weren't perfect but it's a good sign that Sam's able to understand my instructions," the doctor told them, "I'd like to take him and do some more tests now that he's awake."

"How long will that take?" John asked.

"A couple of hours," the doctor told them.

"Sam doesn't recognize me," Dean interrupted.

The doctor paused, "That could be a result of the medications-"

"I told you," John interjected.

"Or it could be a result of the brain trauma," the doctor continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "But we won't know for certain until I've run some more tests and Sam's been awake for a while."

The father nodded, the coffee cup in his hand trembling slightly.

The doctor got the attention of the nurse and together they wheeled Sam out of the room, trailing the equipment behind them.

"Let's sit out here," John muttered and Dean followed him into the waiting area and dropped onto the grey couch.

"What the hell happened last night?" Dean asked out loud.

W

When the doctor returned Sam to the ICU the young man was sleeping again.

"He still needs a lot of rest," the doctor explained when Dean asked if his brother was okay, "He'll likely only be awake for short periods of time before falling asleep again. This is completely normal."

"Did the tests tell you anything conclusive?" John asked.

"There is definitely going to be permanent damage," the doctor told them, "Though right now it doesn't look as widespread as we first thought. We will have a better gauge of exactly where Sam is once he's able to talk. I'm hoping to take the breathing tube out in a day or two."

John nodded, "Thank you for all your hard work, Doctor."

The man inclined his head and took his leave.

Dean was back at his brother's side, brushing Sam's hair back from his forehead.

"He'll be okay, Dean," John said as he sat down his voice cracking, "We'll make sure he's okay."

Dean looked up at his father; there were tears in John's dark eyes.

"What's wrong?" the young man ventured; neither of them were too fond of touchy-feely moments but here, in the quiet of the hospital room, with Sam as their only witness, they felt free to express the emotions they would usually keep pent up.

"I just…" John started and then stopped.

"I was so angry when he left," he continued, "I told myself that I didn't care if I ever saw him again."

"You didn't mean it," Dean assured him.

John shook his head, "No, that's just it. The more I thought about Sam leaving us- abandoning us- to go to college, the more I told myself that I didn't care to see him."

"Dad-" Dean began, but John interrupted.

"How could I think that?"

His eldest son had no response.

For a long moment Dean didn't say anything but then he looked up at his father.

"What if Sam goes back to Stanford? After this?"

John sighed, "That's his decision alone to make. I won't try and stop him. I won't say anything."

When Dean looked away, his father blotted his eyes on his sleeve.

"But I will keep in touch with him," John whispered, "Not like before."

Dean, who had not spoken to his brother since he had gone to school and felt less angry than hurt by Sam's departure, agreed. He would make it up to Sam this time, if he wanted to return to college, by being there as much as he could to support his brother in something he was passionate about.

W

Sam woke up again a couple of hours after the doctor had finished his tests. He stared, wide-eyed at his father and brother, no recognition in his gaze.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured, reaching out for his brother's hand, "We won't hurt you."

Although he may not remember Dean, the youngest Winchester seemed to trust his words and he closed his eyes again, falling back asleep quickly.

W

Early the next morning, the doctor arrived to remove the breathing tube after the nurse told him that his patient had woken up in the middle of the night and had tried to pull it out.

John and Dean were in the hospital's café, forcing themselves to eat breakfast and returned to find Sam eating green Jell-O while the ICU nurse watched.

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted, "it's good to see you without that mask over your face."

Sam looked up at his brother, the wheels turning in his head, struggling to make the connection. A blob of Jell-O fell off his spoon and onto the blanket on his lap. Sam peered down at the Jell-O, watching it roll down the blanket and onto the floor.

"That's okay," the nurse told him and grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and bent to wipe up the spot on the floor.

Dean stepped up beside his brother, Sam still staring at him.

"Eat your Jell-O, Sammy," Dean encouraged.

The younger man wouldn't take his eyes off his brother, ignoring his Jell-O.

"Why don't I take that?" the nurse suggested but Sam pulled away from her.

"Okay," she responded calmly, then, looking at John, said, "I'll just be out here if you need me."

She left, returning to the desk in the waiting area.

Dean sat down in the nurse's vacated seat.

"C'mon Sam, finish your Jell-O."

The younger Winchester finally tore his gaze away from his brother and stared at the green blob in the bowl he was holding.

Dean watched as he brother, slowly, carefully, as though concentrating very hard, brought the spoon to his mouth.

John took a seat across from Dean and said nothing. Dean noticed his eyes were red.

Dean smiled at his brother and suddenly, as though by magic, Sam's eyes widened again and he cried out in a raspy voice.

"D'n!"

Dean could have cried, "Yeah, Sammy, its me."

"D'n!" Sam said again, completely forgetting about his Jell-O and flung himself forward to hug his brother, holding onto him as though for dear life.

Slowly, not wanting to startle his brother, Dean returned the embrace, feeling tears fill his eyes.

"I thought you didn't remember," he murmured.

"I… didn't…" Sam whispered, "I didn't and then… it all came back…"

Sam sat back and his gaze slid to the person sitting on his other side. He didn't say anything for a moment but then quietly intoned: "D-Dad?"

"Son," John murmured, his voice thick.

Before Sam could react, John reached out and grabbed him in a bear hug, only letting go when his son let out a whimper of pain.

"Y-You're n-not mad at me?" Sam asked, staring hopefully into John's face, puppy-dog eyes in full effect, "F-for leaving?"

John shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks and into his beard.

Sam smiled and reached out hands, one for his brother and one for his father.

W

"Short-term memory loss," the doctor told the Winchesters four days after Sam came to the hospital.

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, feeling dumb.

"It means that Sam will remember things from his childhood, he will remember you and your father, he'll remember certain important dates like his birthday, but he won't be able to remember what he ate for breakfast, maybe not even what he was doing a week ago."

"What does that mean if Sam wants to go back to school?" John asked.

The doctor took a deep breath, "I wouldn't recommend it. Since Sam's short-term memory is affected, it would be very difficult for him to study, to take exams, with any degree of success."

John and Dean looked at each other nervously.

Sam did not remember anything about the accident but was anxious to return to school.

"Okay," Dean muttered and added that to the list of things already piling up because of Sam's head injury.

The day he had woken up and recognized his brother and father he had experienced a series of seizures- terrifying to the elder Winchesters- but the nurses and doctor had been calm and given Sam an anti-convulsant as well as another round of tests to ensure the swelling in his brain was not back.

Sam's coordination was also affected by the damage to his brain and he constantly struggled to perform everyday tasks such as eating, dressing and even walking to the bathroom on his own. The doctor had given him a specialized boot, called an air cast, so that he would be able to walk with his broken ankle.

Entering Sam's room from the waiting room, Dean forced himself to smile. His brother was sitting up in bed, reading an old National Geographic magazine.

He put the book down and looked from his father to his brother.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "Did I forget something again?"

Dean shook his head, "No, Sammy, you're okay. But we, ah, have to talk to you about something important."

"What?" Sam had the same deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face as he had when he'd been told Jessica Moore had also been in the accident with him and had not survived. Dean, who didn't know Sam's relation to the girl, had been shocked when his brother started crying upon hearing of her death. Sam had been worried that she wouldn't know where he was, wondering why she hadn't been in to see him and had to be told the truth. Once Sam had gotten control of his emotions, he had told his father and brother that Jessica had been more than just a friend, but his girlfriend.

What struck Dean as odd though, was that Sam didn't ask where Brady was, if he was all right. Dean decided not to mention the kid to his brother.

"We have some bad news, son," John told him.

"What is it?" Sam asked, sitting up straighter, "Tell me!"

"The doctor doesn't think you should go back to school," John explained, "Because of your injuries."

"What?" Sam asked, his lip quivering.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean murmured and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"No! I have to go back!" Sam cried, "I have to! I have… I have… something… important…"

The younger Winchester pressed his fists to either side of his head as he struggled to recall what he'd forgotten.

"Hey, hey!" Dean reached out and pulled his brother's hands down, "C'mon Sammy, don't do that."

"I have to go back," Sam said quietly, "I can't stay here."

"You won't be staying here," Dean told him, "You'll come with us."

The older brother smiled encouragingly.

The devastated look on his sibling's face wiped the grin from his own and he sighed sadly.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said and meant it.

W

"Okay Sam," Dean told his brother sternly, struggling to keep his brother's attention, "I wrote everything down for you, okay? Dad and I won't be gone long."

"Okay," Sam replied, staring at the television playing in a corner of the motel room.

"Would you look at me?!" Dean snapped.

Sam tore his gaze away from the screen and looked at his brother, angry.

"I am looking at you, Dean," he insisted.

"I wrote everything down for you," Dean told him, brandishing a sheaf of lined papers.

"C'mon Dean!" John called from the doorway.

"One second," Dean responded, glancing quickly over his shoulder.

"Don't leave this room, Sam," Dean told his brother, "I mean it. If you don't remember what to do, just read this."

"I know, Dean, I'm not a baby," Sam growled and grabbed the papers from him.

Dean nodded, "I know your not."

But Dean also didn't want to find his brother wandering around the parking lot of the motel room again because Sam had left the room and couldn't remember which one was theirs.

"If you need help, Bobby's number is here," Dean pointed to the top of the stack of papers to a phone number written in bold red pen.

Sam nodded, "Okay, Dean."

"We won't be long," Dean told him again and put a hand on the back of his brother's neck. Sam obediently bent his head forward and Dean kissed the top of his head.

"C'mon Dean," John called again.

"We'll be back before morning," Dean told his brother and Sam nodded, his attention already drawn back to the television.

Closing the motel room door and locking it, Dean let out a breath.

"He'll be okay, Dean," John put a hand on his eldest son's shoulder.

"I know he will, Dad," Dean glanced over his shoulder at the motel room as the approached the Impala, "I know he will."

Author's Note:

Story title comes from a song by the band Avenged Sevenfold.

This was longer than I intended but I couldn't shorten it any more. I am very happy with it and feel like I should explore the idea of short-term memory loss in the future. I work with elderly people, some of whom have short-term memory loss but it would be interesting to explore how that would affect a younger person.

Please leave a review if you enjoyed this story.