Notes: Italic paragraphs mark flashbacks.

1.2 Amnesia

2013, with Dean

For a long time, there was nothing.

Just white and black and, well, nothing.

"Dean."

And the occasional faint calling of his name, of course.

"Dean!"

He did not know where he was or what had happened, and for a long time, that was absolutely all right with him. Just floating through nothingness felt refreshingly relaxing.

Suddenly, however, he sensed immense pressure on his chest, just a short impulse, but repeated so often he did not even bother counting.

Not that it troubled him, per say. It was kind of relaxing in its steady rhythm.

Just when he had grown comfortable with the motion, though, it suddenly stopped.

Instead, the sensation was replaced by a pair of lips pressed against his own. Suddenly, he noticed how air was being pushed into his lungs.

It was only then that he remembered that he was supposed to be breathing in the first place.

So that's what he did.

Inhaling sharply, he remembered to live. His entire body jerked and his eyes shot open, but he only understood the situation when he saw his brother's face still hovering far too close to comfort above him with an expression of sheer despair etched on his features.

If only for a short time, Dean had stopped breathing.

Again.

His body might be telling him, but it showed so much more clearly on Sam's face. Within a blink, the terror on his face turned into pure relief.

Dean might have stopped breathing, but he would always have to come back – for he could never let Sammy down.

"Dean," his hilariously tall younger brother whispered hoarsely as he all but squashed him in a hug, "Thank God."

Exhausted both physically and mentally, Dean simply patted his brother's back wordlessly. It was awkward, and he had no idea what had even happened.

He only knew he had just gotten too close to the veil yet again.

And, considering how incredibly tightly Sam was holding him, Dean had probably freaked him out a bit too much. "Dude," he finally joked, if only to ease the tension, "you just kissed me."

It seemed to do the trick; chuckling humorlessly, Sam let go and returned to kneeling next to his brother. "If that's what you need to stay alive," he replied and forced a grin on his lips that did not quite manage hiding his inner turmoil, "I'd never stop."

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again. Leave it to Sam to phrase an innocent statement in the most ambiguous way possible.

No, strike that.

There was no way you could not hear a flirtation in that comment.

But regardless of whether it had been a joke or a poor choice of words, Dean's lack of reaction let the moment pass as soon as it had come.

"How do you feel?" Sam asked quietly, any trace of humor gone from his voice, "Can you walk?"

Inhaling deeply, Dean finally bothered checking his own body's responsiveness. "I'm fine," he stated automatically. Nothing felt broken or numb. But for some reason, he was so weakened even a task as menial as sitting up drained him of all his powers.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was grateful for Sam's hand steadying his back in that moment. "What the hell happened anyway?" he asked gruffly as he looked around.

Sure enough, they were sitting in the middle of a dirty corridor that had recently been decorated in a muddy mixture of water and blood as well as...some cut-off heads? Dean frowned. Vampires? They had just disposed of a Wendigo – why the hell would vampires bother ambushing him after a hunt like that?

As he took a short moment to summarize the situation, Sam's face grew darker. "You hit your head pretty hard earlier," he reported quietly, "I guess that's what got you the bright idea to electrocute the vamps..." He gulped. "...and yourself along with them."

Breathing steadily at last, Dean took in that information. "At least it took them out long enough, huh?" he cracked a small grin as he nodded towards the nearest corpse.

It was not quite a corpse yet.

Following his gaze, Sam nodded, grabbed the machete he must have dropped next to them earlier and got up to finish the job. While they must have dealt with most of them before the electro shock therapy, there were still at least four vamps merely unconscious rather than decapitated.

They did not live much longer.

A mere minute later, Sam returned to Dean's side. Rather than pulling his still frail brother up to his feet, though, he crouched next to him and simply picked him up bridal style.

"What the hell, man!" Dean protested at once, scandalized but too tired to struggle enough to get out of Sam's arms.

"You're too weak to walk," the younger man explained matter-of-factly as he set off towards the exit, seemingly unfazed by the additional weight on his shoulders, "and I'd rather get you somewhere safe quickly."

"Dammit, man," Dean protested in annoyance, "first you kiss me awake, now you carry me like that? I'm not a goddamn Disney princess."

Sighing, Sam sent him a tired look. "But a damsel in distress," he stressed and kicked a door open, navigating them through, "Just ignore your ego for a moment and you'll get whatever you want later, alright? Just don't fall asleep on me for now."

Dean's frown deepened, but aside from the sheer awkwardness of the situation, he couldn't help being a bit intrigued by that offer. "Whatever I want?" he repeated incredulously, wondering for the second time that day whether Sam actually meant to sound ambiguous.

It was then that Sam arched an eyebrow at him and something strange happened.

The younger hunter stopped walking just briefly enough to lean down and whisper four very quiet yet very concise words into his brother's ear.

"Whatever you want, Dean."

For better or for worse, that mere action sent a shiver down Dean's spine, and as he found himself at a loss of words yet again, he felt as if his brain might just as well have short-circuited again.

Later

Inhaling deeply, Dean leant back and put his feet on the table as he let his gaze wander across the empty motel room.

He felt way too tired.

It was not just the fact he had nearly died earlier that day.

He was missing something. Something big, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

He had tried explaining it to Sam, but the problem was, he did not quite see what exactly was bothering him in the first place. If anything, conversing with Sam made it worse. It was hard enough to Dean to deal with his own thoughts still so strangely cloudy.

But Sam, too, was different.

As if they had swapped roles, Sam would tease his brother subtly or not so subtly whenever the situation arose while Dean was simply too tired and - dare he say it? - slow-witted for a proper comeback.

Worse yet, the younger hunter had dropped more innuendos in one day than in the entire year before.

Speaking of the devil, the door swung open in just that moment. Laden with several bags full of supplies – when had they ever bought so many actual ingredients? - Sam was quick to glance over to Dean, to make sure he was still up and kicking.

Frowning to himself, Dean wondered when he would actually be kicking again, but for the moment, it was all right.

"I got you some of the good stuff," Sam offered as he place the bags on the table right next to Dean's feet and began rummaging through them.

"Please tell me you didn't forget the pie," Dean all but pleaded as his watchful gaze already scanned the bags for any pie-indicating outlines.

On cue, he was handed a huge, promising plastic box. "Apple pie," Sam commented and resumed sorting the items, "You liked this one last time."

"Awesome!" Dean exclaimed and ripped the box open unceremoniously before digging right in.

It tasted like heaven and –

"Oh man, this pie is awesome," he swooned and grinned at his brother with his mouth still full, "Seriously, dude, I could kiss you for this."

Unboxing his own meal, something that looked suspiciously vegetarian – again! - Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Not that I would, of course," Dean added hastily and took another far too huge bite, "Don't get your hopes up."

– he choked on his frigging pie. "Dean!" Sam was at his side in an instant, freeing his brother's airway with a well-placed knock on the back. "What the hell, man!"

Still coughing heavily, Dean regained his composure at last. "Just remembered something," he grumbled unhappily. It technically wasn't a lie. It felt like a flashback. But he had no idea when the hell that should have happened.

Considering his eyebrow had risen dramatically, Sam was not satisfied with that answer anyway. "About that..." he began urgently, dismissed the bags and sat next to Dean, "what do you remember?"

Dean grimaced. He had evaded the topic earlier because he did not want to talk about their argument – and how, apparently, he had just made the exact same mistake he had yelled at Sam for the day before.

Not that remembered fighting any vampires recently, which made things only worse.

"It's kinda hazy," he admitted at last, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

"You're probably concussed," the younger brother stated, "I already tried contacting Cas, hopefully he'll get around to checking on you." He inhaled softly and put his hand on Dean's, which was still clinging to the table. "In the meantime, though, we need to assess the damage. So if it's hazy – what's the last thing you remember?"

Dean felt his brother's intent gaze on his skin, but his own eyes were fixed on the hand on his own. What the hell? Sighing gruffly, he shook it off and reached for the pie's remains.

Sam's face fell. "You – ," he began, but Dean cut him off.

"I have no idea what we were hunting, alright?" the older brother snapped, "The last thing I remember is yelling at you after that Wendigo in Utah."

Sam's eyes widened and all colour drained from his face. "Dean..."

Looking away, the older Winchester did not need to be told he was messed up. He had undergone some sort of cardiac arrest, might not recover all that well unless Cas decided to show up at last and had ended up amnesic on top of that.

He did not really want to know how bad it really was, but his brother was going to tell him anyway.

"That was two years ago," Sam stated tonelessly.

Dean inhaled sharply. "What?" Two whole years? How could some blunt trauma to the head lose him two years?

As Dean tried, and failed, to accept the truth, Sam was trying hard not to panic – for whatever reason. This was Dean's problem, wasn't it?

They'd figure it out, as always.

"That means," Sam began slowly and nearly trailed off before seeking Dean's eyes in a nearly fearful manner, "you don't remember...?"

The question stayed as incomplete as that, and given the situation, Dean could not help feeling agitated. "That's what I just said," he retorted a bit more harshly than intended.

Sam closed his eyes.

Dean sighed and leant back.

They stayed silent for an excruciatingly long time, each brother left to his own inner battle.

Eventually, Sam stood up stiffly. "Excuse me."

He was probably about to flee for reasons unknown – which was exactly why Dean could not let that happen. "Sam?" the older Winchester warned carefully with his hand wrapped firmly around his brother's wrist, "Whatever it is, you need to tell me."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes again. "This was hard enough the first time around, Dean," he stated flatly, "I can't do this again."

Furrowing his brows, Dean grew even more confused. Whatever the hell had happened during those two years must have shaken Sam, or them both, pretty fundamentally.

What the hell?

"We'll get Cas, and he'll get you to remember," Sam suggested as he tried peeling his brother's hand off his own.

Naturally, Dean tightened his grip.

"Sam, if I'm supposed to know, you should tell me right now."

Sam gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "Dean, I'll..." he began and hesitated, "I'll update you soon enough." Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he eventually regained enough composure to send Dean a reassuring smile. "One way or the other, we'll sort this out," he promised and patted his brother's shoulder in what was meant as a reassuring manner but was too hesitant to work as such. "Just give me a moment first."

Only three long strides later, he was already out of the door, leaving Dean to stare after him in utter bewilderment.

So maybe he was weak and concussed, but even in that state he realized that he had just missed an entire conversation.

Later

With his mind slowed down, his body weakened and his limbs aching, Dean felt like crap.

Then, two fingers touched his forehead, and he had to blink a couple of times before believing it.

Inhaling deeply, feeling incredibly rejuvenated, he literally jumped out of the bed in newfound energy.

He nearly hit his head against a shelf nearby. Thoughtful as he was, though, Castiel pulled him back just enough for that not to happen.

"You need to be more careful, Dean," the angel chided him earnestly, "If I had not been available, you would have taken permanent damage."

Still busy waking up for real, Dean blinked at his friend. He had not even noticed his arrival, but boy was he glad he had shown up at last. "Dude, thanks for dropping by," he grinned amicably and tilted his head when he realized that apparently not everything had been restored. His body felt more youthful than it had in years, but when it came to whatever recent events Sam had mentioned earlier, well, he did not remember much more than what Sam had told him. "You mind repairing the memory part, too?" he prompted at last.

Fixing him in that intense gaze of his, Castiel stayed silent for a moment. "It is possible to reset your brain to an earlier state," he explained and furrowed his brows. "However, your emotional memory resides within your soul. I would prefer not to risk a de-synchronisation if your memories have already started returning anyway."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just do it, Cas," he demanded, "The risk is much bigger if someone, something, goes after us and I don't even know what I did to the fugly it's trying to revenge."

Castiel's frown deepened.

"Besides," Dean added with a shrug, "If I'm still hunting, my emotional landscape can't have changed that much, now can it?" He huffed, "No risk, no problem."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but refrained from voicing an objection. Instead, he averted his gaze and looked towards the other side of the hilariously large bed.

Following Castiel's gaze, Dean found Sam leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. Dean blinked. Had his brother been standing there the entire time?

He opened his mouth to add another good argument to stress his point, but before he even got that far, Sam's glare was redirected at him – and he forgot in an instant whatever he was going to say.

"No way in hell, Dean," Sam stated quietly. His words were as uncompromising as his expression, and Dean felt like just accepting it.

Then, however, he wondered who exactly had put his brother in charge of decisions that were clearly not his to make anyway. "I'm a grown-up, Sam," he informed him testily and straightened to stand his ground, "Don't patronize me."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

But it was only when he could actually see his little brother's lips trembling that Dean realized Sam was not actually seething in fury – but in expertly concealed terror. "I've already seen you too close to death today, Dean," Sam explained as his angry façade crumbled at last, "I've lost too much of you as it is." He inhaled sharply. "So don't do this to me."He lowered his head and his voice broke at last, "Just don't."

Eyes wide, Dean stumbled back against the bed. He had expected anything – a temper tantrum, a bitchface, but not this.

The Sam he knew didn't break down.

He didn't beg.

What the hell had happened in those two years?

It wasn't the first time Dean asked himself that question, and he accepted grudgingly that it wouldn't be the last time, either.

He had no idea how to deal with Sam in a condition like that, and it did not help matters the boy had made a good point.

Dean had never meant to let his brother down.

He never would.

- 1.2 Amnesia: End -