Where are you?

Chapter Twelve

His head hurt; agonising pain which made him feel nauseous. It hurt more than it had the day that they had brought him into hospital – and he remembered – he remembered everything.

He opened his eyes; he was lying on his own comfortable bed, a sheet pulled up over his legs and body. He squinted against the bright light "Son of a bitch" his voice was harsh, his throat burning as if it were on fire.

"Dean?" it was Sam's voice, soft and pleading "Dean can you hear me?"

"Sam – can you turn off the damn light – it – it hurts my eyes". There was a shuffling sound and the light suddenly dimmed. Dean sighed with relief and opened his eyes again.

Sam was sitting beside him, long fingers resting on his wrist. Dean could see the concern in his hazel eyes and he could feel his brother's body shaking; in fact Sam was shaking so hard that he could virtually see the tremors wracking his body "Dean – they – they told me you passed out in therapy – are you – I mean – Dean?" Sam seemed to be having difficulty with his words and his voice trailed off, his fingers absently stroking Dean's wrist.

Dean lay there; his mind whirling. The black hole that was once his mind had been filled; everything that had happened to him and his family was back, in painful, distressing clarity. Worse than that, he was now only too well aware of the incident that had put him in hospital in the first place, of his brother's involvement and the terrible consequences it had wrought.

"Dean?" Sam spoke again and Dean hissed, pulling his hand away from Sam's seeking fingers "Fuck Dean – what's wrong?"

"I remembered – everything – I remembered everything Sam"

"Oh God" Sam's shoulders slumped and Dean saw something die in his once bright eyes. Dean drew in a deep breath and stared hard at his baby brother, clarity suddenly dawning.

"You didn't want me to remember" his voice sounded harsh and cold, even to his own ears "Did you?"

"What are you saying Dean?" Sam was shaking harder now, his hands clasped together in an attempt to stem the tremors "I brought us here – you must remember that – I wouldn't have suggested it – if I didn't want you to get better"

"Yeah – yeah" Dean snorted a sarcastic laugh and Sam winced "You wanted me to remember hunting – and you – but the rest – maybe you hoped I'd stay ignorant of that"

"I told you the truth" Sam appeared to be reading his mind "About turning evil – about trying to kill you"

"I can see it now" Dean felt a lump form and he swallowed it down angrily "I remember it all Sam – and believe me – it isn't a pleasant memory"

"Dean – it wasn't me"

"I don't want this" anger exploded out of Dean and he realised that he was scared, scared and weak, emotions that he wasn't used to feeling, emotions that he didn't want to acknowledge. His mind felt as if it were being torn in two – his memories were back – but he sure as hell wished that they weren't "I don't want this"

"Dean – I – I'm gonna get some help ok?" Sam gripped Dean hard on the shoulder, using his superior strength to keep Dean still, to stop him from pulling away "You need some help"

"No!" Dean Winchester didn't need anyone's help. He was strong, he had to maintain his game-face "No help" he struggled up in the bed and put his hands on Sam's chest and pushed – hard "I should never have let you talk me into this – never have come here – we could have sorted it out with Missouri – we would have got through this"

"You were blocking it out" Sam's voice was gentle "You couldn't hunt, you couldn't remember how to hunt – but you wanted to"

"Can you blame me?" Dean stared hard at his brother's pale face and he felt a sudden, irrational hatred "Most of my goddamn memories seem to involve you trying to kill me in some way – Sam – just get out of my face"

"Dean…" Sam's voice was desperate "It is just because your memories have returned – it's shock – you just need to see someone"

"No – and I don't want to see you either" Dean rolled over, burying his throbbing head into the pillow "Just leave me alone". He heard Sam give a sharp intake of breath and he laid still, his head turned resolutely away. There was a moments silence and then he heard the door creak open and slow shuffling footsteps and he knew Sam had left.

He let the memories come and it hurt him. He could see Sam, tears streaming down his face, gun in his hand, having to shoot the woman he had just spent the day with. He heard his own voice saying "Let me – I've got this one" and hear Sam's choked reply "She asked me to do it". He felt one solitary tear roll down hi shot cheek as he watched his baby brother suffer. He felt himself flinch as the gunshot sounded.

He remembered how much Sam had changed since that day; how his innate innocence had turned to hardness he hardly recognised. How Sam suddenly started vanishing for days on end; how Sam would return to their motel rooms smelling of beer, smoke and perfume.

He had taken to staring at Sam, looking at his eyes, dreading seeing the pupils turn black or yellow. The odd thing was – Sam's eyes stayed hazel and cold – and he hated that – he hated the thing that his brother was becoming, hated that he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He could recall that terrible day in dreadful technicolor; see Sam laughing at him; feel the heavy throb of the gun in his hand; see his own fingers shaking round the trigger. He felt the sensation of being thrown through the air; hearing Sam's hysterical laughter; feeling the car hit him; his head connect with the pavement; cold blood seeping.

Dean groaned; he felt his head throb and his eyes filled with hot painful tears. He realised that Sam was right; he guessed that Sam was always right. He was in shock, he couldn't connect the Dean he was then with the Dean he was now. With his memory returning he knew he was Dean Winchester; hard, emotionally repressed, killing whatever he could lay his hands on – evil or otherwise.

Then there was another part of him who was still the 'new' Dean – the Dean that wanted to hold and touch; the Dean that was scared of the life he was forced to lead; the Dean that wanted nothing more than to love and protect his younger brother. A younger brother that he had just let walk away – Sam – oh god Sam.

He sat up abruptly; ignoring the pain throbbing against his temple. Swinging his legs out of bed, he flung open the door and went into the hall, searching for his brother; looking for Sam. He went everywhere; the pool; the game's room; the therapy suite; but there was no sign of him, nothing. Finally he asked the receptionist, trying to keep calm, charming her, smiling brightly. She checked down the list with her fingers, long red tips tapping. A frown dented her forehead and she stared at Dean "He's checked out" her voice was kind and Dean saw the pity in her eyes

"Did he say where he was going?"

"I'm sorry – he didn't say anything – he just checked out" her hand went instantly to his arm and he realised he was swaying, his head spinning, the pain driving him almost out of control. Sam – the one mainstay – the one thing that belonged to 'both' Deans – the one person that loved Dean whatever his memory – Sam – and it was Dean that had driven him away.

TBC