It's A Not So Terrible Life.
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The crowded, noisy work-space looked no different to that of thousands of others dotted around the country-side, and the range of expressions on the harassed workers' faces were identical too, as they struggled with the repetitiveness of their jobs, answering the self-same questions day after day.
The tall handsome young man uncomfortably squeezed into the too small cubicle, was no different to the others. His entire day consisted in answering simple queries, mostly from older harassed housewives who found themselves struggling to comprehend the workings of the ever more complicated technical apparatus that had become part of their homes and lives.
He had taken to doodling on whatever piece of paper he found under hand, and his tiny cubicle was dotted with sketches of weird beings, that he himself had no idea from where he had drawn the inspiration.
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No, wait, that wasn't quite true!
His dreams recently had been full of scenes in which these creatures were present, although he wasn't altogether sure if the dreams were caused by the drawings or if the drawings were consequence of the dreams. Actually everything was a bit confused recently, including his memories.
He had put it all down to the dullness of this job, and although he was well qualified for something better, this had been all that was available, and he had needed the money. So amen!
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But the dreams seemed so real, as though when he closed his eyes at night, he was transported to some horror filled dimension in which he fought and killed these creatures. In that dreamscape, he was in the company of another guy, someone that he had never encountered in real life, an illusionary partner in his little adventures.
The idea made him smile.
Sam considered himself a sociable enough guy, but he had never really let himself get close to anyone; he had never had the classic Best Friend Forever, but the man omnipresent in his dreams was that and more, much more; someone that he seemed to know very well, someone achingly familiar, someone that he understood as intimately as himself.
Sam shrugged off his thoughts; he was becoming maudlin, beginning to let this fantasy life leak over into his real one. He would stay here until he had put some cash by, and as soon as anything better came along, he was out of it.
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He shook his head ruefully, "Dude, you've got to get a life" he scolded himself silently as he turned towards the guy in the cubicle behind him, one of his co-workers with whom he had felt an instant sympathy.
"You up for coffee, dude?"
"You betcha' Sam! I'm just in the mood to listen to some of your stories after this morning's stint. Bring on the vampires man!" he finished off, throwing down his headphones in disgust.
Sam didn't quite understand why he had confided his strange dreams to him, but hey, at least they were good for brightening his colleague's day if nothing else!
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The lift was slow in arriving or so it seemed to Sam, as he waited impatiently to get out of the building and breathe in some fresh air. He would go home to his tiny flat, change and go running. After sitting around in the cramped cubicle all day, his body needed physical release.
The elevator finally arrived and the doors opened revealing a young man dressed in a snazzy grey suit, probably a manager from the upper floors, Sam surmised.
The guy had his head lowered perusing a magazine, and he glanced up indifferently as Sam entered, his attention moving instantly back to his reading.
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Sam felt icy fingers run down his spine as his eyes focused on the man's face. It couldn't be! He found himself staring at the guy. There was no doubt about it; he was the man in his dreams.
Sam was a practical, down to earth kind of guy; his dreams being the one fanciful exception, so the only logical explanation was that he had met this guy somewhere and used his face for his dream-companion, but for the life of him he couldn't remember ever having seen him before.
The other must have felt Sam's eyes boring into him, for he turned impatiently, "Hey man, I know I'm one attractive dude, but one, it's not polite to stare and two, I don't swing that way."
Sam felt his face suffusing with blood, embarrassed to have been caught out staring.
"What…...No!, No... I, um... No, it's nothing like that. I just ..…You look like someone I once knew; is all!" he stuttered.
The other just nodded as if he was used to grappling with spaced-out underlings every day and went back to his paper, exiting the lift without a backward glance when the doors opened onto the ground floor.
Sam stood mesmerised for an instant, jumping out hastily just before the doors closed on him. He watched as the unknown, but so familiar guy exited the building, bewildered and disconcerted by the unexpected encounter.
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He pushed out through the main doors onto the busy street.
Luckily enough his flat wasn't far from here and he usually enjoyed the walk home, but tonight his anxieties were overwhelming him. He had felt an instant connection to a total stranger, a guy he had never seen before but just the sight of him had caused an ache for something lost, something that was missing from his life.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he wandered across the road without paying a minimum of attention to the on-coming vehicles, and when the car threw him onto the sidewalk his consciousness slipped quickly away into oblivion.
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The bright white light slowly filtered through his eyelids as he sluggishly tried to open them. Where was he? What the hell had happened? He couldn't quite remember. As his awareness became more lucid, he could make out a figure sitting by his bed-side.
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"Dean," the word left his lips like a prayer. His brother! He turned his eyes towards him, the ache that had pervaded his soul melting away as everything became completely clear. He had forgotten about his own brother, about their hunting life together.
No wonder he had been having dreams, it was his essence trying to make him remember that one being so special in his life.
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"Don't try to talk," the dishevelled Dean by his side counselled. "You've had a bad concussion and it's been touch and go for twenty-four hours, but you're over the worst now, pal! "
"Dean," Sam echoed smiling, well aware that he tended to repeat his brother's name to infinity; a fact pointed out to him uncountable times by his older sibling. "What happened?" he asked his mouth pasty with the aftermath of the drugs and the slow awakening.
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"You walked off the side-walk right in front of my car, dude. I tried to swerve but I caught you just the same and you hit your head off the ground."
Sam nodded, he remembered being deep in thought. He must have stepped out into the road without paying attention, but what strange tricks destiny played by making it Dean's car the one to hit him.
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"Dean, what do you remember?"
"I just told you, you walked out and….."
"No," Sam interrupted. "I mean what do you remember? About us."
He saw Dean's face take on a perplexed look. "Us? How do you mean. There's no "us", as you put it. That concussion must have dome more damage than was thought, Wesson."
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Sam's heart fell a good few notches. He remembered, but it was clear that Dean didn't. Maybe he needed a blow to the head too, or its equivalent.
"I know this may seem a little strange to you, but bear with me," Sam began, hoping that Dean wouldn't just get up and walk out.
"Look at me, really look. Doesn't my face seem at all familiar to you?"
"Dude, You work, in the same place as me, 'cause in the lift I saw you had on the yellow shirt of our call centre, but I had never met you before then; I would've remembered a sasquatch like you! I thought you were trying to come on to me in the elevator. Is that what this is now?" he smirked.
"You trying again? My answer is the same as it was then, man!"
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Sam let out an impatient huff. "Dean why should you always presume to be irresistible to everyone, woman or man in the near vicinity? I am in no way interested in you that way," Sam enounced carefully, adding an eye-roll to emphasise his words.
"Okay, man," Dean answered evenly enough, "I'm to blame for you lying here so I'll go along with your post-drug psycho run. What's all this "us" business then, and how do you know my name, anyway?"
"I know everything about you Dean, so bear with me" was the reply, leaving the older man bewildered.
"Now concentrate and look at me, really look. Is there anything familiar about meat all?"
He turned his eyes on Dean in full puppy- dog mode, trying to inject them with all the emotion and caring that he could, knowing that Dean nearly always succumbed to their power, except when it put Sam himself in danger.
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Now that Dean was giving his full attention to the patient in the hospital bed, something in the guy's strangely hypnotic eyes pulled at him; they did seem somewhat familiar, as if he had seen them looking up at him many times before.
That's a laugh, he thought to himself. The guy was a good four or five inches taller than him and yet…...!
Slowly the vision of a much smaller boy with the same moss-green eyes, looking up at him, came into his mind; a skinny little kid, nothing like the gigantor in the bed but with those self-same eyes.
He broke eye-contact with Wesson and stood up, turning away from the bed. Just what the hell was going on? Who was this guy?
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Sam watched silently, giving him time. Something had clicked; he could see that Dean was confused, mulling over what had been said.
He turned back abruptly, studying Sam as one would a strange specimen.
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"You know, you do seem somehow familiar, as if I had known you when you were younger, known you for years even," he admitted confused, "but it makes no sense al all to me."
Sam felt his optimism rising, Dean had started to remember, all he needed was another little push.
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"Do you like classic cars?" he asked innocently.
"What sort of question's that?" Dean answered piqued. "I dunnò, I've never thought about it. I suppose I like them as much as anybody else."
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"We used to have a Chevy Impala, black as night," Sam continued, "and my brother loved that car. He was always shining her up and coddling her. He used to listen to old tapes, and sing along in his out of tune voice to rock songs, until at times I could take no more and would eject the tape."
"Dude, my voice is so not out of tune…..."
Sam smiled to himself in triumph as the amnesiac man in front of him pronounced the words, seeing the evolution on Dean's mobile face as his memories came rolling back in.
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"Sammy," he whispered as he gazed in wonder at his newly-discovered little brother.
"It's okay, Dean," his brother's calm voice soothed. "Someone played a bad little joke on us but it seems to have back-fired."
"Sammy," Dean continued, a point of anger making itself heard in his voice. "I had forgotten all about my pain-in the ass little brother. Someone did this to us, Sam. And I'm gonna tear out his lungs for his trouble!"
Sam smiled as he heard Dean use the word "us" so naturally now, after having denied that it could ever refer to them.
"Sammy," Dean repeated for the third time as he approached the bed, "God, I'm sorry that it was me who put you in here and that I forgot about you." He covered his brother's hands with his own.
"Dean, I had no recollection of you either but the knock to my head must have jolted the memories loose or something, otherwise I would still be as in the dark as you were."
Sam gave his brother a dimpled smile not caring about anything else other than the fact that Dean had remembered.
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"We've gotta get out of here, little brother and see just what's going on. You up for it?"
Dean scanned his sibling's face and eyes with attention; being the world's great Sammy expert but everything seemed back to normal.
"I'm fine, man," Sam confirmed. "Just a couple of deep bruises. We can get out of here whenever you're ready."
Some time later two young men made their way unobtrusively out of the hospital, looking for answers and someone's ass to kick.
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