Chapter 11
xxxx
All Bobby knew was that the Winchesters had salted and burned the body. "It's done; we'll see you at your place" the only message Dean had left on his voicemail.
Bobby'd finished dealing with the young idiot in California and had been halfway home already when he'd gotten the message. He'd beaten the Winchesters back to the house and hadn't been sure what to expect when he went out to meet the Impala.
"Hey, Uncle Bobby." Sam had climbed out of the car first and stood with his hands jammed in his pockets, watching Bobby approach through his lashes. His voice was colored by the inexplicable low drawl both boys sometimes sported when they were tired or stressed.
Or thought they were being funny.
Bobby narrowed his eyes at the kid. "God damn it, Sam," he growled, closing the gap between the two of them and wrapping Sam in the embrace he'd avoided just days before. "God damn it!"
Sam laughed, delighted, and returned the hug with interest. "Hey, Bobby," he said.
xxxx
The Winchesters had called from Bobby's, and Jo had tried her hardest not to begrudge either the boys or Bobby the few days they stayed in South Dakota. But it had been hard.
Bobby himself had called when Dean and Sam had left his place.
"How are they?" Jo had asked.
"They're good," Bobby'd said. "They're really good. Like they've never been apart, really."
Jo had blinked back the tears that started into her eyes. "Oh, Bobby."
"Yeah," he'd said gruffly. He'd cleared his throat. "Well. They're your responsibility now."
Jo had laughed. "Hand-off accepted."
Sam and Dean pulled in a day and a half later, tumbling out of the car and rocking back good-naturedly under the onslaught of welcome-home tackles – from the boys and D-Dog – and hugs (only slightly more restrained) – from Luke and Jo.
This time Jo gave herself the freedom to weep all over Sam when her turn came, and he handled it with aplomb, patting her awkwardly and reassuring her repeatedly that he was OK. When Luke finally detached her, Jo let herself be diverted, blowing her nose and asking if they were hungry. They were, and the whole party moved to the kitchen.
The Winchesters were in rare form, mercilessly teasing and provoking each other and the boys. The boys responded in kind, and Jo had visions of wrecked furniture and broken bones as the affection being expressed got increasingly physical.
But in the midst of the chaos and noise, Jo watched Sam pull Tommy close, accepting (maybe even needing) the younger boy right in his space, long arm around narrow shoulders as Tommy leaned in.
And she watched Dean's eyes stray to his brother, his face softening as Sam whispered something to Tommy, who giggled and turned in to hug Sam. Sam closed his eyes when thin arms tightened around him, laughed at whatever the younger boy said in return.
xxxx
"Sam? Honey?"
Jo had thought she was alone in the house and was surprised to find Sam slouched on the couch in the family room. She rolled her eyes at the rear end of the dog slinking off the furniture as she approached.
"I thought you'd gone with Dean and Luke to take the boys to the pool."
Sam shrugged. "Changed my mind," he said shortly.
Jo's eyebrows went up. She'd heard Dean and Sam going back and forth over the outing for several minutes earlier in the afternoon—Dean wanted Sam to go, Sam didn't want to go, Dean wouldn't go either, Sam didn't want Dean to feel like he couldn't go, Dean didn't want to go if Sam didn't want to go, Sam would go if Dean wasn't going to go without him, Dean didn't want to force Sam to go, Sam wanted to go, Dean wanted to go, Sam didn't want to go …
It had truly been one of the more surreal conversations she'd heard between the brothers – they'd sounded like teenage girls deciding what to do on a Friday night.
But in the end she'd thought they'd settled on Sam going. Apparently not.
If initially it has appeared that things between Sam and Dean were back to normal, it was becoming increasingly apparent that they really weren't.
In the last couple of days Sam had gone from giddy with excitement at remembering and being home to quiet and almost sullen. Something Dean had said in passing made Jo think that Sam was having trouble sleeping, so she hadn't been all that surprised – though still somewhat dismayed – when Sam's temper had gotten progressively shorter as the week had gone on.
Jo sat on the sofa, and Sam continued to concentrate on the television. She reached down to scratch D-Dog's ears when he rested his muzzle on her leg.
"Not up for that much activity?" she asked gently.
He shrugged again. "They don't really need me," he said.
Jo felt her heart tighten a little at the tone of his voice. She opened her mouth, but didn't know exactly what to say.
Sam seemed to shake himself, cutting a quick glance at her.
He smiled, grimacing ruefully. "Sorry. I just." He sat up and gave her a searching kind of look. "I feel like I'm butting in sometimes, and…" He shook his head, rolling his shoulders uneasily. "It's stupid, I know." He sighed, turning back to the TV.
Jo watched him, again trying to find words that might help.
"I can't figure out where I fit in," Sam said softly.
"Sam," she started.
"It's just. I'm really glad that you guys were here for him." The look he gave her was sincere. And heartbroken. "I am. I'm so glad for that. But. I don't… I can't…"
He took a shuddering breath, head going down as he clasped his hand between his knees. "It's just… I was so lost," he whispered. "And I thought I'd never...
"Sugar." Her own heart breaking, Jo reached for him tentatively.
Sam didn't seem to have heard her. "He thought I was dead and he moved on. And he should have. He should have." He was talking more to himself than to her. "But I couldn't. I was so… scared. The whole time. I didn't know anything. And I needed…. He had you and I had…" She could hear no one even though he didn't say the words. He'd needed Dean, and he'd had no one. "He had you and he doesn't need me. And I don't …"
Sam broke off, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "This is so stupid." Guilt bled through the whispered words.
The hand that she had rested on his arm came around him as tears started to spill over.
Jo pulled him into the tightest embrace she could manage and let him cry, only able to reassure him over and over that it was alright, murmured words she knew meant nothing to him at the moment, trusting that the tone itself would soothe some of what he was feeling.
It was a long time before he settled, exhaustion eventually catching up to him, leaving him limp in her arms.
"Sam?" she asked softly.
He sniffed and sat back sluggishly, a hand coming up to wipe at his face. She reached over and grabbed a box of Kleenex on the end table, pulling out a wad of tissue to give him.
"I'm sorry," he said again, applying her offering haphazardly to his eyes and nose.
"Don't apologize, sweetheart."
"I hate feeling this way," he whispered. "Like I'm jealous. Like I wish Dean hadn't had you. Because I don't wish that. I don't," he said fiercely. Like she'd questioned him.
"I know that, Sam," she said gently.
He looked at her uncertainly. The blotchy flush of tears being suffused by a blush of what she thought might be shame.
Jo took his hand in both of hers. "Baby, I can't imagine what you've been through over the last few months. To be hurt and alone and not remembering. That isolation and that fear must have been overwhelming." She caught the shine of fresh tears in his eyes before he wiped them on his shoulder. "And then to get dropped back into lives that … maybe seem to have gone on without you. It must feel tremendously unfair."
Sam was blinking erratically, jaw clenched. "I don't want to feel this way," he said, gulping in an uneven breath. "I want to be happy for Dean. That he didn't have to go through… that he had you." He said it almost desperately.
"I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do. And I think you do feel that way. It's just. I guess it feels pretty in your face that he did have us when you see him with the boys," she said gently. To see the relationships that had developed and deepened without him. To watch the easiness among them and not be a part of it.
Sam looked away.
Jo thought for a minute. "The thing is, Sam. Dean may have had us. But he didn't have you." She couldn't control the break in her voice at the memory of Dean's grief. "We were so afraid we were going to lose him, too. That losing you…." She couldn't go on. Finally she said unsteadily, "Don't think he doesn't need you, Sam. He does. He did." She hesitated slightly before she continued. "I guess it might look like, on this end of things, that Dean had been able to move on. But Sam, he hadn't. And I don't think he ever would have. He was learning to… get by. But I'm not sure he would ever have gone on."
Sam wiped an unsteady hand down his face. "What does it say about me that that makes me feel better?" he asked with an aching glance.
She smiled, reaching out to smooth the hair out of his eyes. "That you love your brother. That you've got the same mixed-up, messed up feelings and motivations as the rest of us."
He didn't answer immediately. "Yeah. I guess," he said heavily. At some point the dog had insinuated himself onto the couch between them, and Sam put his arm around the animal.
Jo didn't say anything for a long time, just continued to ease her fingers through his hair. Then she tilted her head. Sam had started to list to one side.
"Baby, go to bed," she commanded gently.
He blinked at her in time with the motion of her caress. Took a deep breath. "I am kind of tired," he mumbled, untangling himself clumsily from the dog.
"Yeah," Jo said trying not to smile.
"'K," he said. "I'm gonna go lie down."
"Good idea," she acknowledged.
xxxx
Sam slept until almost 1 the following afternoon. He stumbled to the kitchen and drank a couple of glasses of water before downing three bowls of cereal. Dean watched him closely.
"Dude, you OK?"
Sam blinked at him through puffy eyes, not raising his head from his food. "Yeah," he said sleepily, head propped on a hand as he spooned Cheerios into his mouth.
"You want some more?" Dean asked when Sam had finished his second bowl.
"'K," Sam said, pushing the empty bowl across the table to his brother.
Smiling slightly, Dean got up and refilled it, putting sugar and milk on top before replacing the bowl in front of Sam.
"Thanks," Sam mumbled, starting in again.
After he finished, Sam took the bowl to the sink and shuffled out to the family room. He dropped onto the couch and watched four hours of a Dog Whisperer marathon. Then he went back to bed.
Dean looked at Jo. "Seriously?"
"Let him sleep, Dean. He's catching up."
Dean shrugged. "I guess." His eyes drifted in the direction his brother had gone. "Has he been crying?" he asked.
Jo stared at him, startled.
"He's got that look," Dean said, lifting a shoulder.
Jo bobbed her head back and forth in a way that indicated yes, but I probably shouldn't tell you that. "I think being back has been kind of hard for him," she hedged.
Dean frowned. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know, honey," she huffed, clearly torn. "I just think maybe we shouldn't underestimate how alone and vulnerable he felt while he couldn't remember. How some of that may still be lingering."
"What?" Dean demanded. "Why? We're here. We're all …"
"Dean," she interrupted gently. "I don't think we all is really the issue." She gave him what she hoped was a significant look.
He squinted at her and his expression shifted as he realized what she was saying.
"Oh," he said.
"I think maybe Sam needs some just you time," she said softly.
He looked away, nodding thoughtfully. He smiled when he finally met her gaze again. "Tired of me?" he teased.
"Never," she said simply. Smiled in return, but Dean saw the hint of sadness behind it.
Even so, Dean felt his smile deepen at her answer, ducking his head and flushing slightly in response.
xxxx
"Hey, bud."
Tommy was on the porch swing, pumping his legs occasionally to keep the chair in motion. "Hey," he said.
Dean sat down next to him. He laid his arm across the back of the swing and pushed off with his feet.
"So'd your mom tell you me and Sammy are heading out pretty soon?" he asked carefully.
"Yeah," Tommy said. He sounded astonishingly unconcerned given how he'd reacted to the same information not all that long ago.
"That OK?" Dean couldn't help himself from asking.
Tommy shrugged easily. He was stretching his right foot out as far in front of him as he could, trying to touch the porch rail with his sneaker now that Dean had taken over locomotion of the swing. He slid down slightly in his seat. "Mom said you and Sammy needed some time to hang out just brothers." The swing reached the end of its forward arc and the toe of Tommy's shoe brushed the wooden slats in front of them.
Dean nodded. "Yeah," he agreed.
"That's cool," Tommy said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." The boy scooted back on the swing again, drawing both legs up and resting his chin on his knees. "I bet Sammy really missed you when he was gone." Enormous blue eyes blinked over at him. "Like you missed him. When we thought…" He stopped.
Dean's throat felt tight, and he cleared it softly. "Yeah."
Tommy nodded and turned to look out across the yard. "I miss Michael when he's gone," he said. "And I really like it when he comes home and takes me to a movie just us."
Dean smoothed a hand over Tommy's head. "Michael likes that, too," he told him.
"And you'll be back," Tommy said confidently.
Dean relaxed, hand moving from Tommy's soft hair to grab loosely at the chain that ran from the chair to the ceiling of the porch roof. He, too, shifted his gaze to the expanse of lawn in front of the house.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, toes pushing off slightly to keep them in motion. "We'll be back."
xxxx
Sam had been surprised by, but not unhappy with, Dean's suggestion that they hit the road. As much as he might hate admitting it, Sam wantedneeded his brother to himself for awhile. He'd felt steadier after his conversation with Jo, but the flares of bitterness and insecurity still caught him unprepared. He hoped that some time with just the two of them might put some of that to rest.
But leaving had been hard in ways Sam had not anticipated.
They'd left D-Dog with the Sweeds, a decision Sam hadn't fought. The dog was happy there, and he knew that having the animal with them on the road would be unfair to D-Dog for all the reasons Dean had laid out before. And the truth was that with his memory back, the thought of leaving the dog with the family hadn't awakened the same gut-clenching panic and rebellion it had the first time. He had his brother and while Sam knew that he'd miss the dog, he hadn't thought, in his relief at remembering again—at having Dean—that he'd need the dog like he had before.
When they'd been young Sam had loved the idea of a dog and all that it represented – permanence, normality. But he'd never really considered himself a dog person. He'd never been one who sought out dogs or coaxed strange mutts to him. That had always been Dean. Dean who sweet-talked any dog that was tied up outside a café or a bar or a store. Dean who held out his hand to be sniffed. And though Sam knew Dean would have loved to have had a dog when they were growing up, he'd accepted John's restrictions on pets – as he did most things – without much complaint.
So Sam hadn't thought he'd miss the dog the way he did. Miss the warmth of the animal curled up next to him, miss the way D-Dog watched him, poised to respond immediately to whatever Sam did, tail wagging, pleasure all over his face. There was an ache to the dog's absence that left Sam feeling hollow and off-kilter, even with his brother's constant presence.
For his part, Dean seemed to be feeling the loss of the Sweeds in much the same way Sam missed the dog. Sam knew his brother was talking to the family regularly, trying to be sensitive to Sam. But his slipping out of the room when the phone rang or hanging up abruptly when Sam got out of the bathroom or back into the car was beginning to wear on Sam's nerves.
For the moment they were both ignoring the awkwardness. But Sam could feel the tension in the pit of stomach, see it in the set of Dean's shoulders. And he wasn't sure how much longer they'd be able to pretend it wasn't there.
"You OK?" Dean asked it as they were loading the last of their equipment into the trunk of the Impala. Their first job since they'd gotten back on the road had been surprisingly straight-forward and refreshingly easy to deal with. Sure, Sam had been tossed across the room and into a table by the shifter, but that was par for the course, and Dean had dispatched it handily enough, silver bullet to the heart in a single shot. A quick burn of the body and they were going to be back at the motel much earlier than either had thought possible.
"Yeah." Sam shrugged a little stiffly. He could feel the pull of bruises across his back and the trickle of what he thought was probably blood along his side. But it could wait until later.
By the time they got back to the motel, Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to make it out of the car. But with a little concentration and a muffled grunt, he managed to heave himself up. He hobbled after Dean to their room.
"You sure you're OK?" Dean frowned at him when Sam leaned wearily against the doorjamb while Dean worked the lock. Sam looked at Dean in surprise, pressing his hand against the spot at his waist where the tickle of moisture was bothering him. It stung like a son of a bitch.
"Yeah," Sam said again. "I caught the corner of that table and, I think…"
Dean pulled Sam's hand away from his side. "You're bleeding," Dean said.
Sam glanced down. "Yeah," he said easily, pulling up the t-shirt with a wince.
"Damn, Sam," Dean said with something of a bite.
Sam squinted down at the scrape along his ribs, twisted awkwardly to see if he could check out where the wound ended on his back. He couldn't. On a shrug, he let the shirt drop and followed Dean into the room, heading for the bathroom.
"Where are you going?" Dean asked. He was scowling, first-aid kit in held in a tight grip.
Sam blinked at him, hand that had reached for the kit dropping slightly. "To get cleaned up?" he asked uncertainly. He wasn't sure why Dean would be mad at him.
Dean's expression cleared somewhat, and he watched Sam with an unreadable look in his eyes.
"I've got it," Dean said.
Oh. Right.
Sam sat down on the bed and let Dean help him ease the shirt over his head.
Dean was quick and gentle as he cleaned out the scrape and applied a couple of butterfly bandages to the worst parts of it. Sam felt a tightness he hadn't really known was there ease another couple of notches as Dean worked.
"You hit your head, too?" Dean's fingers were already in his hair.
Sam's neck bowed slightly under the questioning touch. His hand came up of its own accord, though he didn't actually make contact. "Maybe?" Now that Dean mentioned it, he felt the throb of pain at the spot just behind his ear where Dean was prodding.
"It's stopped bleeding, but you've got a knot." Another light probing made Sam wince. Then the whisper of fingers smoothing over his hair. "I'll get you some ice."
"Thanks." With a sigh, Sam lay down on the bed. When he felt the towel full of ice settle on his head, he reached up to hold it in place. "Thanks," he said again.
"I doubt you have a concussion," Dean said by way of response, holding out some ibuprofen. "Get some sleep." It took Sam a while to work out the logistics of what to do with the ice pack as he sat up and took the proffered pills. Dean stood patiently for all of five seconds before taking the ice from him so Sam could accept the medication and bottle of water Dean was shoving at him.
Dean put the ice pack on the bedside table and sat down on the opposite bed to pull off his boots. He didn't seem to be moving too stiffly to Sam.
"How 'bout you?" Sam asked, gingerly tossing back the pills and taking a swallow of water. "You OK?"
Dean didn't look up from his laces. "Yeah," he said without hesitation. "Not a scratch."
Sam nodded as he put the bottle on the table, picking up the towel and its ice before he lay down again. Conveniently the knot on his head was on the same side of his body as the scrape and bruise. He rolled gingerly onto his injury-free side, thankful for small favors. He glanced down at his feet and realized he still had his shoes on. Crap. Maybe he'd just rest a minute before he took them off. He closed his eyes.
Sam felt a hand under his ankle and the tug of his shoe being removed. He smiled. To himself, he thought. "I forgot," he said groggily.
A pause.
"Forgot what?" Quiet question.
"This," Sam said sleepily. "Having someone."
A longer pause. The other shoe removed and a hand—heavy, there—on his shoulder.
"Go to sleep, Sammy."
xxxx
They took a couple of days for Sam to heal up. Generally they didn't do that. No stitches and a bump on the head? Barely registered on the Winchester scale of woundedness. But at the moment Dean didn't want to push.
They were figuring each other out again. Unsure of things like they hadn't been since after Jess had been killed. When four years apart had seemed like both an eternity and the blink of an eye as they'd learned how to live in each other's pockets again.
Dean couldn't figure out if this was better or worse.
It had only been four months this time. But it had been different kind of time apart than the last one. Time that had worked both of them over in significant ways.
And Dean was beginning to realize that he was just seeing the tip of the iceberg in terms of the effect that time apart had had on his brother.
So far, though, Dean was having a hard time putting his finger on what it was exactly that had changed. But there was one thing Dean knew. His little brother was different.
Initially it had been easy. Like Sam getting his memory back had somehow just reset the last few months. They'd both been giddy with the relief of it all—teasing each other and just…happy…in each other's company. And Dean had been so caught up in Sam remembers that he'd missed the shift when it first came. When Sam had gone quiet. And angry.
Dean actually thought maybe Sam himself had missed the shift. At least at first. But it had become clear to both of them in Sam's clenched jaw and sharp, frustrated comments. If Dean had blinked the first time Sam had snapped at him over nothing, in retrospect, Dean realized Sam had surprised himself as well. Sam had apologized almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but he'd retreated into a silence that had lasted for days and soon frustrated and angered Dean.
So when Jo had suggested that the two of them spend some time on their own, Dean had kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Even before he'd remembered, Sam had responded to the time they'd spent on the road as they'd headed to Bobby's. Unwinding in the Impala, comfortable with just Dean beside him.
Dean had felt the difference as soon as they were on the road this time as well. A relaxation not just in Sam, but in himself as well. That had lasted a couple of days. Until Dean had started missing the Sweeds. And Jake had called.
Part of Dean had recognized that one of the issues between him and Sam had to do with his relationship with the family that had taken him in while Sam was wandering around the country lost and on his own. The guilt Dean felt when he thought about that seemed to rival Sam's own festering resentment. Dean didn't know, though, that he'd realized the extent of their problem until Sam's eyes had gone flat when he'd answered Dean's phone.
"It's Jake," Sam had said, handing Dean the phone without looking at his brother. The stab of pleasure Dean had felt at the words had faded quickly at the expression on his brother's face.
"Hey, Jakey." Dean's eyes hadn't left his brother. Sam hadn't acknowledged Dean's jab at the younger boy. Had just continued to stare at the television.
"Dude," Jake had said disapprovingly.
Sam's frown had deepened when he'd looked up to find Dean watching him.
"What's up, Jake?" Dean had said abruptly. Shorter than he'd intended.
There'd been a moment of surprised silence from Jake. "Uh. Nothing. Just wanted to say 'hi,' I guess," he'd faltered. "Are you busy? I can…"
Dean had swallowed a sigh. He hadn't meant to take things out on the kid. "No. Sorry. Not busy. But. Can I call you back?" He'd tried to put a false kind of cheer in his voice.
"Yeah, sure." Jake hadn't been fooled. "But you don't have to. It wasn't anything.…"
"I'm going to take a walk." Sam had gotten up and shrugged into his hoodie.
"Sam."
"Dude." Sam had given an embarrassed sort-of smile and a one-shouldered shrug. Sorry. "Talk to Jake. I'll be back. Tell him I said, 'hi.'" And he'd slipped out the door.
Left Dean standing there in the empty room, staring after him.
"Dean?" Jake hadn't been sure he was still there.
"Yeah," Dean had answered, resisting the urge to go after his brother or even just peer through the curtains to see which way Sam had gone. "What's up, man? I can talk."
Sam had come back almost an hour later, just after Dean had gotten off the phone.
"Jake says 'hi,'" Dean had said.
Gotten a nod of acknowledgement from Sam.
Neither of them had mentioned it again.
But after that Dean had tried to ease back on contact with the Sweeds. He couldn't – he wouldn't – not return phone calls or check in. But he hadn't called as often as he'd thought about it, had taken calls outside or into another room when that had been an option. Sam had never asked. Had never expressed an interest in how the Sweeds were doing or what Dean had talked to them about.
And the not-asking was frankly a big part of what was different about his brother. Sam was introverted and self-contained in ways that Dean absolutely didn't recognize as his little brother. Sam, who had always had questions and comments and opinions about everything he saw or experienced, seemed, in Dean's mind, to have just switched off. He went hours in the car or the motel rooms without saying a word—reading or watching TV or just freaking sitting. It disturbed Dean in ways he couldn't even articulate. More and more it felt like being with a stranger; like he was losing – had lost – his brother all over again.
And Dean hadn't been able to figure out how to get him back.
Sam's comment the night he'd been hurt – that he'd forgotten what it was like to have someone – had startled Dean. And been a revelation of sorts.
Sam had remembered the facts of his life before. But there were other aspects of that life that remained obscured – or overlaid – by his experiences in the intervening months. The detachment, the self-protection. Sam was still using those strategies that had made him feel strong when he was alone. And he was only just remembering that he could count on someone else. That Dean was there to watch his back, to support him.
They were almost through the six-pack Dean had bought that afternoon when Dean launched his first salvo in his plan to remind Sam.
"Hey, man. Can I ask you a question?"
Sam turned his attention from the television and their 63rd viewing of Spaceballs to look at his brother. Dean saw the flash of wariness cross his brother's face, but Sam didn't say no so Dean took it as a yes.
"Do you remember what happened between the time you fell and the time you woke up in the hospital?" Dean asked it cautiously, not sure how Sam would react to the question.
Sam had been decidedly unwilling to talk about what had happened to him before he'd remembered. And he certainly hadn't volunteered anything since he'd gotten his memory back. But Dean was hoping that a direct question might prompt Sam to start talking again. Even if later on Dean was pretty sure he was going to regret it.
Sam blinked heavily at him. Being on his own certainly hadn't increased his tolerance for alcohol. "No," he said. "Not really. I kind of remember falling, but after that… nothing really until waking up."
Sam had turned his attention back to the movie before he'd even answered and he didn't look at Dean now. He took another pull on his beer.
Dean didn't ask anything for a minute.
"What was it like? When you woke up in the hospital."
"I told you," Sam answered tightly.
Dean let that sit for a second. "Not really," he said softly. But he didn't push. Not for the moment. And he recognized the exact moment Sam decided to tell him.
Sam shrugged, gaze sliding to Dean then away. "I don't know. It…" He cleared his throat. "It sucked. Out loud," he added with a slight smile and a shift of his eyes to Dean.
"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly. "I bet." He let the silence stretch out again.
"I can't describe it," Sam went on. "What it's like not to remember anything. Even who you are. I knew… It was like I knew that I wanted someone there, that someone was supposed to be there, you know? But I didn't know who or why. And it just. Hurt. All the time. This hole of not knowing who I was and… missing. But not knowing what… or who. Just knowing that someone… " Sam broke off, swallowing hard and shaking his head.
The raw pain in Sam's voice tore at Dean. But this was what he'd wanted, what he'd asked for.
Sam went on, floodgates open. "And in a weird way remembering's made it worse. Not that I don't want to remember. Not that. But it's like. Now that I remember, I know what was missing. What it would have been like if you'd been there. If I hadn't been alone."
"Sammy." Dean's whisper was more of a croak, the guilt that had been banked like live embers since Sam had shown back up flaring into a raging fire.
Sam's jaw tightened and he pinched the bridge of his nose with the fingers of one hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's not your fault, Dean, it's not. Don't… . Please don't …"
Dean slid off his bed and onto his brother's. Sam shifted in response to Dean's light shove, his other hand coming up as he dug the tips of his fingers into both eyes, struggling to stay in control. Dean felt the weight of Sam's shoulder lean into his.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Sammy," Dean said softly. When Sam started to shake his head again, Dean overrode whatever his brother was going to say, "I know it wasn't my fault," even though it was, whatever Sam wants to tell himself, "but I'm still sorry, OK? Sorry you had to go through that on your own."
Sam didn't say anything, but he nodded. Finally Sam dropped his hand from his face, letting out a shaky breath. He scrubbed both hands over his cheeks. Dean continued to watch TV.
"Why do we watch this movie every time it's on?" Sam asked scratchily. "It's so stupid."
Dean didn't look at his brother. "Because it's a classic."
"Classically stupid," Sam returned, settling against Dean. He drained the dregs of his beer and reached for the last one.
"You're stupid," Dean muttered. Smiled at Sam's muffled snort. And polished off his own beer.
xxxx
Dean gave it another couple of days before he asked his next question, and another day before he asked again. It got easier for Sam each time, and it wasn't long before Sam was opening up more freely and seemed closer to himself than he'd been in awhile.
"Was that Jake?"
Sam asked the question as Dean got himself settled in the passenger seat of the Impala. They'd been stopped for gas and a change of drivers when Dean's phone had rung. He'd wandered over to the edge of the parking lot to talk while Sam had filled the car and gotten coffee.
Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother and the question. But Sam was adjusting the mirror and the seat, apparently oblivious to Dean's scrutiny.
"Yeah," Dean said, wondering where Sam was headed with this.
"Everything OK?" Sam reached for the coffee cup Dean had been holding for him.
Dean handed it over. "Yeah. He's just…" This was the first question Sam had asked about the phone calls and Dean wanted to be careful. "He's trying out for the football team this year and two-a-days start pretty soon." Dean took a cautious sip of his coffee. Nice. "He seems to want to keep me updated on his workout schedule," he went on dryly.
Sam laughed, and Dean couldn't help his grin in response to the sound.
"Since when is football his thing? I thought he played baseball." Sam checked behind them and pulled out.
"Yeah. But he's got a good arm and the starting QB graduated this spring. School that small, most of the kids play more than one sport." Dean shrugged. "Coach Taylor talked to Luke and asked Jake to try out."
"What's Jake think? He want to play football?"
Dean laughed. "Yeah. Turns out Luke was quarterback when he was in high school and…"
The questions came easily and thoughtfully and eventually segued from Jake and sports to Dean himself and the spring he'd spent without Sam.
Dean had barely been aware of when the conversation shifted focus.
"How many of Jake's games did you go to anyway?" Sam asked with a slanting glance at Dean.
"Pretty much all of them once I…" He stopped. Cleared his throat. "Enough that I know the stats of every kid on the team," he said ruefully. He swallowed. "It was something to do that wasn't…lying in bed, I guess. Or worrying Jo," he admitted.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother nod minutely.
"I bet Jake liked having you there," Sam said neutrally.
Dean shrugged. It had been a start, Dean thought. A start that hadn't involved putting a gun in his mouth or just. Stopping. Both of which would have been ends, he guessed. He looked out the window to his right.
"Hey." Sam's soft whisper brought Dean's head back around. "I'm glad you were with them Dean; that you had them," he said.
Jaw clenched tight, Dean nodded stiffly.
The silence in the car stretched out, and Dean returned his gaze to the scenery whipping by the passenger-side window.
"When's the first game of the season?" Sam asked.
When Dean turned to look at him, Sam smiled. "We should be there."
xxxx
The End