A/N: So this might not have been one of my favourite episodes of the season, but I really enjoyed it and it struck a real chord with me. I hope I can do it justice here. Enjoy!

Dean Winchester is going to die.

That was what the woman with the bouncy red hair had said. Dean Winchester. The other man had told him that that was his name, which meant that he was going to die and that scared him more than he could say. He stood up and gripped the edge of the cool metal... sink, the post-it read. He stared into the green eyes of his reflection and tried for a confident smile - apparently he was good at those.

"My name is Dean Winchester." Yeah. He thought harder, remembering the other man. His brother. S... Sam!

"Sam is my brother." He caught a glimpse of his own green eyes and blonde hair and then her face was blurring in front of him. "Mary Winchester is my mom. And Cast-" He frowned, his best friend's name catching in his throat. He desperately tried to remember it but it had been long and he could feel the letters slipping through his fingers like water.

"Cas is my best friend," he amended. He nodded and started again, hoping that if he kept repeating the names then maybe they wouldn't vanish like everything else.

"My name is Dean W- Winchester," he stammered, panic setting in as he tripped over the sounds of his own name. "S-" What had his name been? Dean realised his hands were trembling and he took a shaky breath to steady himself.

"My name is D-"

"My name is..."

"My name..."

Dean's eyes widened and his breathing picked up as he frantically searched his memory for something, anything. He met his own gaze in the mirror and saw panic and fear reflected back at him.

"I don't know," he choked out, his voice catching on the lump in his throat as tears threatened to spill over. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to like that, but he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

30 seconds passed and Dean wondered idly why he was crying in a tiny motel bathroom.

Dean found it awesome that he knew how to shoot a gun. He didn't know how he knew (what else was new?) but he guessed that somebody must have taught him at some point because he knew exactly what to do from the minute he had picked up the pretty gun that fitted his grip so well. Killing the witches had been fun too. He hoped he had made the right choice with the second witch. He thought he had because something had seemed familiar about the tall man and the way he had said "Brother" had resonated somewhere in the back of Dean's (almost) empty brain.

He smiled cheerfully as the red-haired woman took him by the arm and lead him up the large staircase. He desperately wanted to look at what she was doing but she kept slapping his hands whenever he reached out to grab anything so he settled for fiddling with the many antiques that were scattered around the room. He jumped and dropped whatever he had been holding with a crash when the woman tapped his shoulder. She sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, beckoning him over to the centre of the room.

"This won't hurt a bit," she said, before throwing something into a bowl with a purple flash and yelling some strange words.

It hurt.

A barrage of images assaulted Dean as a burning sensation spread through his body like wildfire. His dad yelling at him to run when their house went up in flames. Sam handing him the amulet on that cold Christmas Eve. Hellhounds tearing into his flesh. Blue eyes and sparks flying in an old barn in Illinois. They kept coming, faster and faster until Dean could barely distinguish one from the other. This lasted for an eternity (or so it felt) until he was left gasping on the floor.

He carefully stood, grimacing as the remnants of the spell washed through him. He eyed Rowena cautiously as she watched him from the corner, one eyebrow cocked in interest. "What are you looking at?" he grumbled.

"You're welcome," she huffed. "I only saved your bloody life."

"Whatever. Where's my brother?"

"Samuel is downstairs, waiting to see if his darling brother is cured."

"You don't say," Dean said, a mischievous glint coming into his eyes.

Dean could see straight away that he probably shouldn't have made that stupid joke. It had seemed funny at the time, but the way Sam's face had fallen made him realise that Sam had likely been worrying himself sick over this damn curse since it started. Guilt flooded through him so he put on a grin and laughed it off, reminiscing over some stupid prank he had pulled when they were kids. He could tell that it had worked (sort of), but he still noticed Sam watching him and hanging onto every word he said for the next few hours.

"I'm fine, Sam, really," he said, when he had caught his brother staring for the third time in ten minutes. Sam huffed a laugh and shook his head, turning to look out the window. He frowned slightly. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just... Do you seriously remember nothing from when you were hexed?"

Dean fixed his eyes on the road, remembering the nervous look in Rowena's eyes before she had left in the taxi.

You're a killer, Dean Winchester

I've done horrible things

If they can't be happy, or at least satisfied, how can there be any hope for me?

Because I know you won't remember

He shrugged and shook his head. "Nope. Blank slate."

A/N: I'm really not happy with this, particularly the ending, but I gave it my best shot. Please leave any comments or criticisms in a review if you have a moment. Bye!