Dean sung open the door and clicked on the light as he wearily stumbled into the motel room. After a late night hunting the local monster, a bed to sleep in and the familiar smell of clean sheets and old carpets made him feel at home.
The slam of the door caused Dean to painfully turn in surprise and Sam gave an apologetic shrug. The dim light in the room glistened off the blood on Sam's back and Dean knew his bruises and own pains could wait.
With a tired sigh Dean dropped the bag of medical supplied on the small table and turned to the bathroom to grab a towel.
As he watched Sam peel off his shirt in the reflection of the bathroom mirror he knew that stitches would be required. He would never understand his brother and his propensity to be thrown into rickety old shelves.
Damp towel in hand Dean motioned for his brother to sit down on the bed and the old mattress springs creaked under his brother's weight.
Cleaning the wounds on his brother's back, Dean could not help but think of how odd their lives were. There were never any sun filled trips to the beach rubbing sunscreen on your brother's back and hoping the design you left uncovered would leave an embarrassing burn. No, his life was blood and stitches and scars.
As Dean whipped up the blood from his brother's back he missed the white scars that had adorned his knuckles for almost as long as he could remember. Memories of a normal childhood long since abandoned and the wild 4-year-old on a wobbly bike with training wheels scrapping his hand against the side of the house. The naïve innocence when a mother's hug would erase the pain.
A muttered cry of pain pulled Dean from his memories. The ragged slice in the skin of his brother's back was clean enough and he stood to from the bed to retrieve the thread and needled.
Slow careful stitches from too many opportunities of practice would hopefully leave no lasting mark, no new memory of mistakes in the grotesque family album of scars. Sam already had far too many memories. From the faint pink burn mark on his arm, a memory of this time with Meg, to the small puckered scar from an unlucky bullet tearing through his shoulder on a late night in a graveyard to the raggedy braid-like scar on his left shoulder a memory Dean's first foray into the world of sewing stitches, Sam's skin was a photo album of their lives.
Dean's time in hell had left him with memories he had refused to admit, but the physical memories of his life before had been obliterated. The pink scars on his knees from childhood falls, the bend fingers, the knife wounds, the claw marks, all gone.
As Dean put the finishing ties in the stitches now traversing his brother's back he noticed the new scars adorning his brother's flesh. New memories they didn't share from the months apart.
While Dean's memories and scars had vanished Sam had acquired new ones. Scar's from haphazardly sewn stitches and poorly bandaged gashes that told more of Sam's time alone than his brother ever had. Memories Dean was not sure he wanted to know about.
Dean still wondered, "Maybe someday Sam would tell me how he got his scars and maybe then I would tell him how I lost mine."
This is my first attempt at Supernatural Fanfiction, so any suggestions to improve the characterization or tone would be appreciated.