so, wanted to get another chappy posted before i go on vacation for the weekend... hope everyone enjoys!! thanks so much for reading!! thanks so much for the awesome reviews!! bambers;)

Chapter Three

"So have you ever been to Burkitsville, Indiana?" Sam asked his brother as they drove toward Rockford Illinois. He needed to understand why Dean would recall that one particular hunt. There has to be something important about it . . . some reason that hunt stands out to him when all the others don't. Since Dean didn't remember who Sam was at the moment, Sam figured asking about it was the only way he'd find out.

"Once," Dean replied as he traced his fingers along the edge of the side window.

"Visiting family?"

"No."

"Vacation?"

"No."

Sam was quickly losing his patience with Dean's one word responses. He could tell his brother was purposely trying to evade answering his questions. Okay, this is gonna be harder than I thought.

"Then why did you go there?" It was direct and to the point, and Sam just hoped there was enough of the real Dean left locked away inside his mind that Sam would get the answers he needed.

"Had a job to do there." Dean's hand slid down from the window to rest on his journal.

All right, at least now we're getting somewhere. Casting a sideways glance at his brother, Sam asked, "So, did things go well on this job?"

"Things never go well on the job." Dean opened his journal and started jotting things down in it. "Left something behind there. Don't remember what it was."

"Maybe I can help you remember what it was." Sam searched his memory of the events in Burkitsville, although he couldn't recall much because he'd taken off to find thier father while Dean continued on with the hunt.

Dean tilted his head and stared glassy-eyed at Sam. "How could you possibly help me. I don't even know who you are."

A tight knot formed in Sam's throat, heart sinking as he heard the flat almost lifeless tone of his brother's voice as he denied knowing him. Tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, he glanced over at his brother. "You know, my brother once told me that I'm pretty damn good at doing research. Maybe if you tell me about what happened there, I might be able to figure out what you left behind."

"All I can remember was it was cold and dark outside."

"So it was nighttime." Maybe he lost something in the orchard?

"Yeah." Dean scrawled something more down on the pages of his journal.

"Think it was something important?"

"Don't think I would've remembered leaving it behind if it wasn't."

Sam tried to think of everything his brother owned and cared about, trying to recall if Dean had ever mentioned something was missing, but couldn't think of anything. It was cold and dark out . . . cold and dark . . . he left something behind — oh, crap. He left me behind in the middle of the night. Damn it, Dean. That wasn't your fault. I told you to go.

He thought of the page he'd read in Dean's journal. Thought of how guilty Dean had felt for leaving him behind, and Sam worried that if he wasn't careful and said the wrong thing, he might lose his brother forever. "What if you didn't actually leave it behind? What if you still have it, but just don't realize it?"

Closing his eyes tightly, Dean pressed the palms of his hands against his temples and rubbed them up and down. "No, they said I pushed to hard. Should've understood. They said it's gone because of me."

A shiver of panic ran up Sam's spine as he noticed how close his brother was to breaking down. Damn it, what the hell do I do. He isn't gonna believe me. If I push much harder I'm gonna lose him.

"Dean, you wanna listen to that song again?" Sam asked, figuring it was better to back off, and try again later.

"What song?"

"The song I played for you about an hour ago. You remember it." Swallowing hard, Sam gestured toward the journal, hating the idea of having to remind his usually strong brother that he'd wrote a song down so he wouldn't forget it. "You wrote it down."

Dean flipped through the pages, until he came to it, and a weary smile lit across his features. "Yeah, I remember it now. You said I liked it."

"Yeah, that's the one," Sam said trying to match his brother's smile, but failed miserably. "One of your favorites."

Rewinding the tape, Sam pressed the button and Nothing Else Matters began to play. Dean sank down in his seat, closed his eyes, and began humming along to it. When the song had finished, Sam hit rewind, and then started the song over again.

After the sixth time playing the song, Sam noticed Dean shifting in his seat to look around. His frantic gaze then settled on Sam, and Sam's stomach twisted in a tight knot, fearing what was causing his brother's sudden anxiety.

"Sammy?"

Hearing Dean say his name, Sam let out a sigh of relief. Sam took a quick glance at his brother and noticed the recognition in his eyes. Okay, haven't lost him yet. There's still time. "Yeah, dude?"

"I was driving," Dean stated plainly, but Sam could tell it scared the hell out of his brother not to recall why he was no longer behind the wheel.

"You said you were tired. Asked if I would drive for a while."

"I don't get tired, Sam. Not while driving."

"Well, you did."

"What time is it?" Dean abruptly asked, changing the subject.

Sam looked down at his watch, and then back up at Dean. "A little after eight."

"Sonuva – " Dean pursed his lips, and gave a curt nod. "So I've lost two hours somewhere. Tell me, dude, did I put on a good show? All freakin' buckets of crazy for ya."

Sam shook his head, trying to figure out what he should say. "It wasn't like that. I mean you were . . . ." Sam's voice abruptly died as he saw the look of fear on his brother's face.

"Did I say anything . . . do anything — hell, I don't even know what I wanna say." Dean turned in his seat to look out the window, and Sam noticed he was trembling.

"It's gonna be okay, Dean."

"You don't know that."

Placing a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam tried to think of the right words to make his brother's pain go away, but couldn't think if any. What the hell do I say to make it all right that he couldn't remember me, and that he has voices talking to him? His hand slid away to rest once again on the steering wheel. "Dude, I've been thinkin' about the asylum."

"An' you came up with something?"

"Well, we were separated for quite a while. Did you see anything or feel any sort of presence in that time?" The moment the words left Sam's lips, he instantly regretted them, and when Dean swung to glare at him, he felt his stomach begin to churn.

"If I could remember, we wouldn't be heading back there, would we?"

"Maybe you wrote something down about it."

Dean grabbed his book and turned to the beginning. His gaze darted back and forth across the pages, searching for anything related to the asylum. Jabbing his finger at one section, he looked up at Sam, and grinned. "Found something. Not sure how much sense it makes, but it's the only thing I've found so far."

"What does it say?" Sam leaned over, took a quick peek at the page, and then returned his attention to the road.

"Outta the corner of my eye, I see its shadow, and my mind refuses to accept it's there. It whispers things I do not understand and then is gone. After a while the memory fades, but it will not let me go."

"That's it, Dean. That has to be it." Sam smiled, feeling almost certain for the first time that they were dealing with something supernatural instead of the alternative.

Dean's grin faded to a frown. "What if it isn't? What if it's just more rambling nonsense." He turned in his seat, and looked at Sam. Shutting the journal, he said, "I mean, most of this stuff sounds like a lunatic wrote it. An' this right here sounds like more of the same."

"Dean, we deal with the supernatural, and this sounds supernatural."

"If you say so, dude." Dean settled back in his seat, and started flipping through more of the pages.

Every once in a while, Sam would hear Dean mumble something to himself, and then his brother would go silent again. As he sat there, Sam began to wonder what gave Dean the idea to write the journal to begin with. There had to be a reason why. Something that triggered the need to get everything down on paper before he lost it. Maybe it's the journal itself that's the key, and not so much what's in it?

He thought back to what he'd read, and couldn't figure out why things were out of order, or why Dean would mention going home after Burkitsville. Maybe he was just trying to get things down before he forgot them. But what about the hunts he'd never been on? The questioned churned over and over again inside his head, and suddenly an idea popped into his mind.

"What if someone who was a patient at the asylum was a hunter?"

Dean turned to look at him, a quizzical expression on his face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the journal for one. Dad had one. So, I'm figurin' that maybe other hunters keep them too."

Biting at his lower lip, Dean contemplated what Sam had said. "They could."

"Yeah, and it would explain the hunts you've never been on." Briefly taking his gaze off the road, Sam reached over, and quickly flipped through the pages, and jabbed a finger at one of the hunts they'd never been on. He then returned his attention to the road. "Didn't think about it before, but those memories seemed clearer than all the rest."

A look of relief washed over Dean's trouble features, and then quickly slipped away. "Guess it might explain the first lines I keep writing down. Maybe some hunter went all mental and ended up at Roosevelt."

"It's as good of a reason as any," Sam said, trying to sound reassuring. He knew it still didn't explain Dean's memory loss or the voices he heard inside his mind, but it was a start.

Dean watched his brother out of the corner of his eye for a moment, and then looked down at what he'd written in his journal those two hours he couldn't recall. Seeing what he'd wrote, Dean could understand why Sam was grasping at anything that would mean Dean was going to be okay. I had to write a freakin' song down just to remember I liked it. That must've scared the hell outta him.

Reading further down the page, Dean frowned, his heartbeat quickening, and any relief he might've felt at the possibility of another hunter at the asylum dissipated. He scanned the passage again, wondering what he and Sam were talking about when he wrote it.

Thinks he can help. Thinks he knows things. He is only chasing shadows, and I will not let him in. Everything fails eventually. The walls crumble. They are no more. Dean

He slammed the journal shut, and turned to peer out into the darkening night. Everything outside the window passed by in one big blur, and Dean felt as if that was what his life was like now. It seemed like the harder he tried to hold on, the quicker it slipped through his grip. What am I gonna do, Sammy? I don't want to forget you. God, I don't want this to happen to me.

"Sam," Dean said, without looking at him, fearing his brother would see how terrified he was at the thought of losing himself to whatever was overtaking his mind.

"Yeah."

"Just want you to know . . . just in case — "

"Not gonna let you say anything that starts out with the words 'just in case', Dean." Dean swung to look at his brother and saw Sam shaking his head adamantly, a determined glint in his hazel eyes. "We're gonna figure this out. I'm not about to let you given in to this."

A tear slipped down Dean's cheek, and he brushed it away. "Just wanted to say that I'm glad you're my brother, Sammy. Wanted you to know that."