Chapter Two

Recovery

I don't own anything Supernatural.

The moment the doctor gave the go-ahead on leaving the hospital, I took it and ran; not figuratively, since my brain was still sensitive and too much physical activity made breathing hurt, but metaphorically.

Sam and Dean had been true treasures in support and company. Even though I didn't remember them, they obviously believed I would come around and stuck with me the whole time I was in recovery. When I'm with them, I see in the hope in their eyes, willing me to remember our past, but it's not there. It's weird, because some things I understand with clarity, like monsters and how fiends from legends and fairytales are real. That should be the craziest thing to me, but it's not. Remembering people ended up being the hardest. In any case, nobody else had visited me and a quick look into my file from the hospital revealed what the nurse had told me: I virtually had no other friends or family. It really must've just been me and these boys.

I put on my clothes, which I had been told were washed since I've been in recovery. They were a bit big on me … too much time had passed and I'd lost weight. Ah, well, nothing some good food and time couldn't fix. I left the recovery room and went into the main foyer of the building, where the boys told me they'd wait up for me. I smiled as I walked into the bright room: I loved being with them. I looked around and saw that neither Sam nor Dean were to be found, so I toured the space instead. The open room had floor to ceiling windows that beautifully showcased the wonderful sunny day outside; flowers grew next to the building. Turning around, the receptionist smiled at me while on call with someone in her desk which occupied its own corner. The center of the room had a circle of sofas and chairs and in the far corner there was a grand piano: a sleek Steinway.

I approached the Steinway and sat down to graze the ivory keys with my fingertips. I knew this. I knew pianos. I knew … I knew Chopin. Without thinking, I closed my eyes and started playing a nocturne … there were some mistakes, but my fingers obviously knew what they were doing. Yes, I loved music … I had taken it up as a teenager-

"Clara! I didn't know you could play!"

Sam approached me, a massive grin taking over his face as he leaned on the closed lid.

"I … I didn't know I could. My fingers remember something that my brain doesn't. Muscle memory, I guess."

"That's amazing. Did you … was there anything you were thinking of while you were playing?" He asked, and there it was, his hope. His shining eyes, asking me the real question: did I remember him?

"Yeah, actually, I was thinking about when I was a teenager. I taught myself how to play piano while I was in school since I was a bit of a loner … it seemed like a productive pastime and, if I did it right, it took up all my thinking space. Poof. No space to think about anyone else, just me and the music … I kept playing up until … up until …" I closed my eyes. Not this again. It felt like anything that could open up a recent memory, or could possibly relate to the Winchesters, I couldn't trace. "…up until I met you, I guess," I finished lamely, opening my eyes. I looked up at Sam; he was trying to cover up his momentary lack of hope.

"Oh, well, don't stop practicing on my account. That was great. Anyway, Dean is waiting for us in the car, so we should probably head out-"

"Right, right, sorry," I excused myself, clumsily getting up. I followed him outside where a car stood out that looked like none of the others in the lot. I stopped and gasped.

Flash. I was cold and it was dark outside … the headlights of this car stopped in front of me. A car door opened up … a man came out and asked me if I needed help … Something was coming-

Flash ended. I tripped over the step I'd been taking, but quickly recovered to get inside the Impala. It smelled like the boys.

"Clara! Good to have you back, or at least, most of you," Dean joked from the driver seat.

"Did you pick me up from an old abandoned road when we met?" My mouth inquired without permission.

Dean turned down the music and looked at me from the rearview mirror.

"Yeah. I wasn't going to stop that night, just drive around you, but Sammy made me stop the car so he could get out and help you."

"It was cold outside when it happened," I continued, biting on my lip. Being in the car was my biggest mental break since I woke up. There was something here was trying to tell me … tell me something important. What am I missing?

"Freezing," Sam interjected. "It was October, frost had begun to settle, and you were out in the middle of nowhere with no coat."

"But it wasn't nowhere. There was something out there that night. Something dangerous."

"Clara, are you okay? Your face has gone white," Sam asked, worried.

I shut my eyes tight. Why couldn't I remember? Why did it hurt my head to think? "I'm fine. I just wish I had my memory back."

"Don't push it," Dean advised. "You'll get there, but don't hurt yourself. Hey, anyone want pancakes?" He asked, driving us out of the parking lot.

I kept my eyes shut, but relaxed them so they were just closed. I breathed in, and then out. Dean was right. Forcing myself to do anything was going to get me nothing but a headache.

"Why are you guys keeping me around?" I mumbled, not really wanting an answer because I knew I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but Sam heard me.

"We're family. We take care of each other," he answered back, but I could hear from his voice that he was holding something back. Family? Or were we closer? Dean and I were like siblings, I could get that, but Sam? He had been too crushed since the beginning. I was going to get to the bottom of all this … but, pancakes first.


After a day of food and fun, the boys started driving back to their version of home that they coined 'the bunker.' I never had to ask if I was invited, because they both automatically assumed I'd be going with them, which of course I would be. However, the drive was too far for one night and I didn't feel comfortable driving yet so we ended up crashing at a motel. One room with two queens and a pullout couch.

"Hey, Dean?" I called out from the bathroom.

"Yeah?" He answered from the main room.

"Can I call dibs on a bed?"

"Clara, you're the smallest and youngest so couch privileges belong to you."

"Awh, don't be like that-"

"I can take the couch," Sam interrupted calmly.

I spat out my toothpaste and, wiping my face, went to approach Sam … who was well over a foot taller than me.

"Sam, it's okay, you're the biggest so that's why I bugged Dean. Who cares about his back? But you'd be so crushed on the pullout …" I trailed off.

"It's okay, Clara. Don't worry about it," Sam replied. Not looking my way, he grabbed his stuff and moved over to the couch with his laptop; the laptop had been open since we arrived.

"Okay, sure," I whispered to myself, putting my toothbrush away into my new bag; the boys had taken me shopping for new necessities, bless them. I climbed into the bed and shut off the light next to my nightstand. "Night, boys," I said, curling up to my side.

"Night."

"G'night."

I fell asleep soundly, but the world of nightmares was waiting for me in slumber.