A/N: This one is happening during season 6, some time after episode 12. It has a few spoilers in it, but not for the main stuff.

Hope you enjoy it. :)

. Will you remember me tomorrow? .

Sam could feel that his heart had started to beat faster as he entered the motel's parking lot and found the Impala right there. He knew that Dean wouldn't just walk around and honestly it was too early for them to start any kind of investigation. Not that they were sure about the supernatural activity in that town, but they had decided to take a look at it in the way to another serious hunt.

That was not the point, though. The point was that Dean wasn't answering his phone and that was not like him, at all. It had been a long time since the time Dean slept deeply. These days, Dean was more awake than asleep; these days, he was literally sleeping with an eye open.

Sam had left earlier that morning to get some breakfast. He couldn't sleep anymore, anyway. He had left Dean a note, even though he knew that his brother had probably noticed his departure. In the cafe down the street he'd heard some stuff that could be related to their case, so he had decided to call Dean and tell him to meet him there. After a few unanswered calls, or a dozen, he had given up and started to get back to the motel.

Something wasn't right, though. He could feel it and once a psychic, always a psychic. Even if you lose your powers, the feelings would be with you for the rest of your life.

So here he was, standing in the parking lot and staring at the impala. He finally turned around and headed for their room. Finding Dean's bed empty, he started for the bathroom, as Dean walked out with his colt ahead of him, aiming it to Sam's chest.

"What the hell."

"Hands up."

"Dean? This isn't funny and it's too early for any kind of pranks."

"Are you deaf? I said hands up." Dean said with a tone that he would usually use on a demon.

Sam looked at him for a few more seconds before nodding. "Alright, calm down. Let me put these bags on the table and I'll do whatever you say." he slowly approached the table and put the breakfast's bags down.

"Don't do anything stupid. Now put your hands up."

Sam put his hands on his head. "You wanna tell me what this is about?"

"This is about you shutting up and me giving the orders. Now, with your left hand bring your ID out card and toss it to me."

"What? What the hell, Dean? If you think I'm possessed which is impossible with those marks and tattoos, then why would you want my ID card?"

"Didn't I just tell you to shut up and do as I say? Can't you see this damn gun in my hand? Because trust me, I won't hesitate to shoot you."

"You are possessed." Sam deduced. "But how? Oh God. Dean, put the gun down, you don't wanna do this."

"SHUT UP." Dean shouted. "You have exactly 30 seconds to show me some ID."

"And then what? You're gonna shoot me?" Sam smirked.

"20 seconds. And hells yeah." Dean smirked back.

"And what will you tell the cops?" Sam challenged.

"You don't worry about it. I'm sure being an FBI agent is enough for me to be able to cover it."

"Being what?" Sam's eyes widened, before bursting into laughter. "OK, I admit it, this one was new and really funny." he dropped his hands as he headed for the table to grab his coffee.

The gunshot stopped him in the middle of his way. Eyes filled with horror, Sam turned around to look at Dean with his gun again aiming at him.

"Next one will be in your head."

Sam swallowed hard. "You're serious." he slowly grabbed his wallet and tossed it to Dean. Knowing well that it was another fake ID card, he waited to see Dean's reaction. "Just tell me why."

Dean looked at the ID card, up at Sam, again down at the card. "You're an FBI, too? Why didn't you just say so?"

"What?"

"So we're partners, huh? Well, I think I can trust you, then.. Umm, look.. I can't really remember anything, I just know that I woke up right there on the floor." he pointed to a spot near the bathroom. "And I had this damn headache and I couldn't remember a damn thing. I checked my wallet and well, found my weapon. Then you walked in and though no criminal would walk in a room with a bag of breakfast, I just felt like I had to be extra careful, since I couldn't really remember a thing."

Sam stared at him. "You are serious, aren't you? Because if this is a joke, I'm so gonna kill you."

"Dude, I just told you that I can't remember a damn thing, why would I joke about something like that?"

"Well, it's you." Sam mumbled under his breath, but then suddenly the seriousness of the situation hit home. "Oh my God, Dean. OK, first of all, we're not FBI, Dean. Those things are fakes. You had feigned them. Well, actually it was a friend of yours, but that doesn't matter right now. The thi-"

Dean cut him off. "These are fakes? You mean mine, too?"

"Yes, Dean."

Dean looked totally shocked. "That.. Why? Then who are we? Are we some kind of fugitives?"

"What? No.. Well, not anymore. At least I hope so. Look, why don't you come and sit down. Let's think of something. You really don't remember anything, do you?"

Dean shook his head and instantly regretted it as a burning pain surged through his head and the next thing he saw was the toilet bowl as he fell to his knee and started to retch. Sam stood by the door frame; too scared and too shocked to do anything. He didn't know what was going on and with the shape that his brother was in, he couldn't collect his thoughts. A few agonizing minutes later, Dean finally stood up and flushed the toilet and went to the washbowl to rinse his mouth, only to find his nose and lips red with blood.

His nose was bleeding and that was the last thing he saw before passing out.

Fortunately this time Sam snapped out of his thoughts fast enough to grab Dean before he could hit his head on the floor. He took a towel and wiped the blood from Dean's face. Grabbing Dean under his arms, he slowly carried his brother to the room and eased him down onto his bed.

"Dean.. Hey Dean, Open your eyes, man."

Nothing.

"Wake up or I'll drag you to the ER."

Again nothing. Sam tapped Dean on the face and shook his shoulder. "Dean." He said a little louder.

Dean stirred and moaned.

"Dean, you with me?"

"Where?" Dean murmured.

"Hey, can you open your eyes?" Sam insisted.

Dean opened his eyes carefully. "What?"

"Do you remember me?"

Dean frowned. "What kind of question is that? Of course, I remember you."

"Well, it's a pretty good question considering that you couldn't remember anything, half an hour ago." Sam stated.

"What do you mean? What's going on? Didn't you go to get some breakfast?"

Sam sighed. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Huh? I don't know? You leaving the room?"

Sam closed his eyes for a second before talking. "Dean something is wrong. You... Uh, well, long story short, I tried to call you and when you didn't answer your phone, I get back to the motel to find you standing in the middle of the room, pointing your gun at me. You couldn't remember a damn thing. Hell, you thought we were FBI agents just because the current ID cards that we're using are FBI badges. Then you felt a bad headache, or at least that's what it seemed like from my point of view and then you were throwing your guts up in the bathroom. Finally, your nose started bleeding and you passed out."

Dean looked at him for a few seconds and then shoved him aside. "Don't you think it's a little too early for stupid jokes? Get out of my way, I'm gonna take a shower and then we can get out and look for something about our new case."

Sam pushed him down. "Dean, I'm not joking. Man, you scared me to death. Hell, look at that hole on the wall if you don't believe me. I was actually waiting for a cop or someone to show up and ask about it."

Dean looked at the hole in the wall. "I shot at you." He swallowed hard.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't a wall. You were just asking for my ID card. It was my fault."

"Like hell it was. I've almost shot at you." Dean was angry at himself. "What the hell is going on here? Why can't I remember a damn thing about it?"

"Whoa, calm down. Dean, even though you couldn't remember me or anything else, you didn't shoot at me. You thought you were an agent and you were just trying to be careful."

"What if I do that again?" Dean asked, his eyes showing his fears.

"You wouldn't, because it's you. Besides, we're gonna find out the reason and prevent it from happening again. And-" he held his forefinger up to stop Dean from interrupting him. "And if it happens again, we should be more worried about you than me. Because next time, I'll be ready and I wouldn't act like a jerk."

"Dean." Sam said firmly when he saw the self-doubt in Dean's eyes.

"Okay, Okay. Just let's figure out what the hell is going on."

"Good. OK. Umm, concussion?"

"What?"

"You hit your head pretty hard when you fell down those stairs." Sam shrugged.

"Yeah and that was two nights ago. Why would a concussion wait two days to show up?"

"Technically it wasn't two nights ago. It's less than 30 hours, now. You know, it's not even 9 am, yet."

"Whatever, it's more than 24 hours. And I'm not concussed because I don't have any other symptoms." he paused. "Or I didn't have them until today morning."

"We gotta go the hospital. You've had too many blows to the head for your own good. You know what they say about it, every time you hit your head it might be the trigger for a permanent damage." Sam said.

"Gee, thanks. I feel much better now."

"I'm just saying that you can't just let it go. They might catch it early and then they will be able to treat it easily."

"You're talking like you already know the problem. Did I again pass out and lose a few hours?" Dean sounded annoyed.

Sam's shoulder dropped in defeat. "I'm just worried."

"Yeah, I just tried to kill you, you should be worried."

"Dammit Dean. You know that I'm worried about you, why don't you stop beating yourself up over something that wasn't even your fault? And don't look at me like that, we're going to the ER, and that's it."

"Who died and made you boss?" Dean growled.

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... TBC ...

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A/N : So, what do you think? :)

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