Song Remains the Same

Chapter 119 / Puzzle Pieces

"…The final amnesia, the one that can erase an entire life."
- Luis Bunuel

Dean Winchester was beaten to a proverbial pulp. His head was throbbing to the agonized beat of pain; his wrist was snapped and broken, his entire body screamed from being thrown around by an angel who was supposed to be his friend. One of his eyes had swollen completely shut from the brutal beatdown, the other was hard to see out of because it was blurred by his own blood. But despite his weakened eyesight and nearly-crippled state, he'd recognized her the second he'd seen her. Without even seeing her face he'd known it was her and his heart had leapt up in his throat. How and why, he didn't know… but Alex was here. Not dead and gone as Cas had claimed. Not lost forever like they had thought. But obviously not quite herself, either.

After all, Dean was standing there with his already-swollen cheek pulsing anew from the impact of her fist. Confusion was making his head swim. Why had she done that? He'd tried to sweep her into a hug and she'd reacted like he was attacking her. When Cas had said she didn't know him or anyone, Dean fell into a short, offended silence. The words made no sense in his mind. "What do you mean, she doesn't know anyone?" he finally asked, pretty damn sure that Cas was completely wrong. Alex might have forgotten Cas for whatever reason but she would never forget Dean. That was crazy talk. To prove his point, Dean gestured to himself the best he could with a broken wrist. It must have been his gruesome and mutilated appearance that had scared his sister. "Alex, it's me."

He waited for her to recognize his voice or for her eyes to adjust to the dark. But Alex seemed able to see him fine and she only shrank back further, mistrust and suspicion and fear making her face tense and hostile. She looked at him like he was an absolute stranger. Even as Dean's emotions began to derail and his mind raced with all the possibilities of what the fuck was happening here, Cas gently held a hand out and stopped him by gently catching hold of his upper arm, preventing him from going any closer to his sister.

"Dean, she has no memory of who she is," he insisted urgently. "Don't frighten her."

Dean looked at Cas in quickly-increasing alarm. "Frigh—?" Panic became fear, and he covered up that emotion with gruffness. "Cas, explain. Now."

But Cas was looking at Dean's face with sorrow. "Look what I've done to you," he murmured, his eyes taking in the beaten and bloody appearance of his friend. Even as he touched Dean's face with two gentle fingers and uttered, "I'm so sorry," the pain disappeared and all of the injuries were taken away like magic. Alex's eyes popped wide when that happened in shock.

Dean angrily slapped Cas's hand off, too distracted with Alex's reappearance to care about himself. "Forget me, Cas!" he thundered, then gestured to his silent, cagey sister. She was against the wall and both of her hands were white-knuckled, pressed hard against the stone on either side of herself. She looked like she was waiting for an opportunity to bolt—her eyes were feral. She had visible injuries—a few guts and gashes and bruises, the side of her head was bleeding, and her knee was still gimp like it had been when they got out of Purgatory. And Dean was furious and freaked out at the same time and needed some knowledge pronto. "What happened to her?! Where the hell has she been all this time and why are you saying she doesn't remember and why the hell were you just trying to kill me?!"

All damn good questions he needed answers for like yesterday. Castiel looked mildly overwhelmed at the rapid-fire barrage of questions and it was then that Dean noticed the trail of blood beneath Cas's righthand eye. "An angel named Naomi was holding your sister captive and forcing me to do her bidding," Cas said somberly, his shoulders caving with guilt. "She threatened to kill Alex if I didn't comply with her demands and…" he looked over at where the strange, bloody metal part he'd pulled out of his own eye had fallen a moment ago. "That thing made sure that I wouldn't remember she was even still alive, among other things."

Dean gaped. So… Cas was being mind controlled or something? By that metal piece? This whole time? And Alex had been some kind of blackmail? Well, now a whole lot of things made sense. Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to commit murder (the closest person would do) or break down and weep from relief.

"I was able to break free today," Cas explained feebly, his eyes dodging Dean's. "Just barely." No kidding. So some angel in Heaven named Naomi had been puppeting Cas and had been the one who yanked him out of Purgatory. No wonder he'd been so off. No wonder he'd started beating Dean's brains in today the second that angel tablet thing showed up. Cas's assault had almost been fatal. Would have been fatal. Cas had seriously been on the way to killing Dean point blank, and Dean suddenly understood the weird behavior during the assault. Even as the angel had been beating Dean's brains in, Cas had been crying and begging some invisible someone not to hurt 'her.' Alex. Cas wiped away the trail of blood underneath his eye. "Dean, I'm so sorry," he said just above a whisper.

Dean barely heard him. He was staring at his sister and experiencing mild physical shock as it settled in. "This whole time she's been alive? This whole freakin' time?"

He had mourned her, he had been at the point of suicide after James died because he couldn't take the thought of something happening to Sam after he had lost everyone else he'd ever loved. Mom, Dad, Bobby, Alex, Jamie… their baby. Sam was just next to go as far as Dean was concerned. And all this time his kid sister had been out there. Still alive. But now she had angel amnesia or something. He didn't know how to believe she could have forgotten him. He'd held her when she was just a baby and rocked her to sleep; fed her with a bottle and Sammy too. He'd taught her how to ride a bike, how to kick and punch, how to take care of a car, how to pick a pocket, how to cheat at cards. He'd been there with her every single day of her existence, basically. And you couldn't just erase that. So he tried the gentle, pleading approach.

"Alex—Al—come on, it's me, Dean," he said, waiting and hanging all his hopes on one peg. He looked at that face of hers, the one he'd seen basically every day of his life since she had been born—and he felt stinging, disbelieving tears gathering when all he saw was veiled terror in her eyes. He didn't understand. "Do you really not know me?" he asked, voice cracking despite his best efforts. "What did they do to you?" Clearly, she'd been tortured to some degree and that broke his freaking heart. Although she clearly didn't recognize him, she reacted when he said 'they' and her expression faltered, her features worked briefly, her mouth opened and she seemed about to say something then she shook her head and frowned and closed her mouth again. Dean's stomach suddenly fell to his toes as a terrible suspicion took hold. "Why isn't she talking?" he asked, filled with dread because he realized that she hadn't made a single sound and the way she'd just opened her mouth then looked confused and frustrated rang way too close to what they used to go through on a daily basis when she'd been mute. And when Dean whipped his head to look at Cas despairingly for an explanation, the angel's expression said it all. "Oh my god, no, Cas—!" Dean pointed at his sister with a shaking finger and tried to be angry and demanding but he came off as scared shitless instead. "You tell me this isn't—that they didn't—" Dean abruptly grabbed Cas by the lapels and shook him, half out of his mind. "Fix her! Fix her now!"

At the wall, eyes widening a little, Alex abruptly looked worried. Like she was thinking about intervening. For Cas's sake. Cas barely noticed Dean's demands and hysteria. He was locking eyes with Alex, who waited stock-still for any sign that she should assist him. After all, she had seen Cas when she had been with Naomi and knew he was the one who had saved her. And she had never once seen Dean before this moment—or didn't think she had, anyway.

Cas brushed Dean aside and carefully, carefully approached Alex, keeping himself a safe distance as not to scare her. "Alex," he said gently, his voice uttering her name with incredibly fierce tenderness. He spoke to her respectfully and slowly, hopeful but apprehensive at the same time. "You remember me, don't you? You saw me in Heaven a few times." Although she clearly had her reservations about trusting either of them, Alex was visibly more receptive to Cas and gave a small, cautious nod. Cas kept his voice gentle and moved fractionally closer. "I mean no harm to you. I… just need to touch you to heal you." He waited for her to give him a signal that he could come closer. "Is… that all right?"

Her dark eyes contemplated him, darted to Dean, then she nodded again, stiffly. Dean could see how she was breathing very hard and trying to conceal that fact. How every muscle was tight and spring-loaded, ready to propel her into a run at the first sign of trouble. Cas looked like he was having to fight hard to mask his emotions. He probably wanted nothing more than to crush her into a tight hug and hold her there forever. But he held himself back. Dean watched how Alex stared at the angel as Cas cautiously brushed fingers to her throat, closed his eyes, and drew his eyebrows together. Beautiful warm light grew at the ends of his fingertips and sank into her skin before it faded, then Cas's fingers drifted away. Alex immediately looked better—her wounds were gone, her clothes were clean of blood, her hair was smoother, her bad knee was back to normal. She even looked more mentally sound and less wild-eyed.

Cas stepped back, giving her space and waiting with an anxious expression that was similar to Dean's. "Can you speak now?" the angel asked, trying to sound less worried than he obviously was. "Do you feel better? Do you remember anything?"

Mildly awed and afraid at the same time, Alex looked at one of her arms and touched fingers to where there had been a slash just a moment ago. Perfect, healed, scarless skin stared back at her and with huge, terrified eyes, she looked at Dean and then Cas. "W-who are you guys?" she asked, and her voice scratched hoarsely like sandpaper. "What's happening to me?!"

"Alex—" Cas began.

"Who the hell is Alex?!" she exploded, looking more and more terrified and angry by the second.

"You are," Castiel replied gently, trying to remain calm even though he was clearly upset, too. "This is your brother Dean and I'm…" he trailed off and seemed to second guess what to say. How did you boil it down to one or two words, the things Castiel was to Alex?

When he didn't complete his thought, Alex skeptically prompted him to finish. "You're what?"

Somber and appearing very distraught, Cas answered factually but left out a whole lot of backstory. "Your... guardian angel."

Alex looked like she thought she was ready to check into the crazy house. "Okay, okay—just—where the hell am I and what is going on here—someone tell me, now."

Dean stared at his sister with a sinking sensation. She really had no clue. And if Cas could have fixed her with a touch, he would have. What if Alex never remembered? What if she refused to believe the truth about who she was? What if she took the first chance and bolted? What if one of the bad guys got their hands on her and used this memory loss to their advantage? What if, what if, what if?

Even as sickening possibilities spiraled through Dean's mind, Cas abruptly glanced around and became stern. "It's not safe here," he muttered deeply, almost to himself. "We can't stay." He went to the angel tablet, which had fallen onto the floor, forgotten. He picked it up and it flared brightly and briefly in his hands.

Irritated beyond belief at Cas's choice to put focus onto a stupid rock, Dean threw his arms wide. "Cas, forget the freakin' tablet, man!"

Cas was surprisingly forceful and combative. His sharp blue eyes darted up. "Dean, Naomi is after this and so is Crowley," he said, his tone causing Dean to consider taking a step backward. "I can't let either of them have it, especially not before we know what it does."

As much as Dean didn't want to admit Cas was right… he knew the guy had a point. If the demon tablet could close Hell, what could the angel tablet do? But still.

"Dean!" A muffled, masculine shout from somewhere nearby.

Dean turned slowly thanks to shock as the clatter of running footsteps announced Sam, who raced into view then skidded down the handful of old stone stairs into the crypt. He breathlessly stumbled to a stop at the foot of the steps, and usually Dean would have reacted with panic at Sam's obvious distress. But he couldn't quite summon the emotion. "Dean! We gotta—" Sam wheezed out, then whatever he had been about to say was forgotten as he saw his twin. His face went slack and pale, his mouth dropped open, his breathing cut short. As if he'd been punched in the gut, his voice dropped to a mere whisper. "Oh my god." Clearly questioning his sanity and his eyesight, he didn't move. He just stared, his expression becoming more and more shocked yet wretchedly hopeful and confused all at the same time. "…Alex? Is that really you?"

She stared back at him with that same suspicious, unknowing gaze and maybe it was his larger size, but she shrank back almost imperceptibly even though he was several paces away. "Who's this?" she asked, looking at Cas for answers, not Dean.

Sam's mild elation fell. "...What?" he asked, looking at Dean for explanation.

"Yes it's her," Dean confirmed, still stunned himself. And Sam's face briefly crossed into joy before his brother's next words dashed it again: "But she doesn't remember, Sam. Anything." He paused, then remembered there was a missing person in the current scene. "Wait. Where the hell is Meg?"

Sam was quite distracted by his sister and he glanced at her rapidly and repeatedly even as he answered his brother. "Sh-she's up there and I left her with Crowley who showed up out of the blue. Dean, we gotta—"

The mention of Crowley made Cas stiffen visibly. He reached for Alex and disappeared, saying only one thing before he left. "Meet me up top."

Alex jumped away from Cas, gasping when his touch took her from one place to the next without warning and in the span of a heartbeat. "Whoa, what!?" She looked around with saucer-wide eyes, confused by the teleportation. "What was that?!"

They were no longer in the crypt. Instead, they were outside of the warehouse, which Sam and Meg had covered in bright-red spray painted demon warding. The asphalt glinted wetly under moonlight, and a few dead bodies were scattered around the immediate area. Demons. Alex of course didn't know that and when she saw dead people and blood everywhere, she shrank closer to Cas, the only relative safety she knew.

On the ground nearby Meg was a bloody, beaten mess. Crowley stood over her and was shaking his fist out leisurely, obviously enjoying her groans of pain. Meg and Crowley looked over in unison when Alex freaked out so loudly about the teleporting, and Meg's dazed face took on a smile when she saw who was with Cas. Her speech slurred and blood dripped out of the side of her mouth, but she sounded pleased as punch. "Well oh my stars, if it isn't littlest Winchester," she drawled, blinking slowly with a woozy smile plastered across her face. "This is an interesting plot twist." She giggled throatily, a drunken sound. She was nearly dead, by the looks of it, and barely holding herself up on all fours.

Momentarily distracted from Meg and very genuinely surprised, Crowley narrowed his eyes at Alex, who of course had no idea who the King of Hell even was. "Well, well, well," he commented smoothly, sauntering a few steps closer and eyeing Alex in a way Castiel bristled at. The demon looked both pleased and irritated, a wicked combination. "And just where have you been all this time, Mouse?"

"Come a step closer and you die, Crowley," Castiel promised darkly, demanding the demon's attention. "Don't test me today, I'm not in the mood."

Crowley didn't come closer but he didn't back off either. His features twisted, betraying his short patience. "I'll have that stone, buddy boy."

"You and what army?" Castiel challenged, his deep voice holding the promise of utter destruction.

Crowley squirmed, obviously knowing when to refrain from gambling his life. "I'm really beginning to regret not squashing you like the bug you are when I had the chance," he muttered, his eyes lusting after the tablet Castiel held. Crowley's jaw tightened. "Sooner or later, that pebble you're holding will be mine," he promised. His dark eyes slid to Alex tellingly. "Amongst other things." He sent her the darkest little smile that erred on the side of suggestive. "We'll catch up later, love. Kisses." And then with a wink, he disappeared into thin air.

Meg dragged herself up to stand on two feet. She wobbled and took a couple shaky steps toward Cas and Alex. "Well that was almost bad," she commented in that throaty, thick voice of hers. She sounded amused, which was sort of strange when you took into account her battered face and flagging ability to walk. She sent Cas a stupor-laced smile. "Nick of time, wingman." She looked at Alex and somehow frowned even as she smiled, seeming curious and intrigued. "So, Clarence, you wanna fill a girl in on how our dearly departed heroine seems to be…" she gestured sloppily, "not so dearly departed?"

At that moment, Dean and Sam raced out of the warehouse. Dean reached them first, coming to a stop as he threw his arms wide. "Cas, what the hell man?! Don't just poof off like that; almost gave me a friggin' heart attack!"

Cas was looking around with a strange expression, and then they could all hear what he was hearing: a high-pitched ringing sound that was slowly becoming louder. Castiel all but pushed Alex at her brothers, such was his turn of urgency. "Take her to the bunker and don't leave there until I find you, Dean!"

Dean clutched Alex, who was obviously in shock at what was happening and unsure of what to do. "Wait, how do you know about the bunker?" he asked, then quickly tacked on a more pressing question: "And where the hell are you going?!"

Castiel looked angry. "To get Naomi off your trail and onto mine. Now go! I'll come when I can!"

He looked at Alex one last time, torn and reluctant to leave, especially now with her looking so frightened. But he still left. Because if he didn't, Naomi and her entourage, who were tracking the tablet, would have swooped in and taken her all over again.

A Few Hours Later

My name is Alex Winchester.

I'm thirty years old.

I have two brothers and a guardian angel.

I like macaroni and cheese.

My favorite band is Def Leppard.

I'm a hunter.

She repeated those facts and others in her head, trying to identify with them and trying to connect. But no matter what, she felt blank inside. Everything that Sam and Dean had told her in the car ride here felt like useless cardboard facts about someone else. None of what they said rang any bells or brought back any sort of memories whatsoever. And Alex—or whoever she really was—felt frustrated.

After Castiel had disappeared and left her with strangers, Alex freaked out and pushed away from the guy holding her, screaming at him not to touch her and to stay away. He got this hurt look on his face then abruptly got pissy and basically said to shut up, get a grip, and get in the car if she wanted to stay alive—that she had no choice but to trust them and that they had to go now in case more demons came.

They left that bloody woman with the bird's nest of blonde hair behind without explanation except a curtly thundered, "she'll be fine!"—and then Alex had been shoved into the back seat of a black car and they squealed off into the night. As she'd demanded explanations and panicked about being murdered on the side of the road by these two strangers, the short-haired one with the glaring eyes had barked out her supposed life history at her in a series of facts, telling her that her name was Alex Winchester and they were her brothers Sam and Dean and they did this thing called 'hunting.' Alex had fallen silent into a daze as he rattled off what that meant. Demons? Ghosts? Hunting? Life on the road for their whole life? It sounded bizarre. Dean had seemed almost angry with her for not remembering which Alex didn't quite get, and he was obviously not having a good day anyway so that didn't help. Then the one with the long hair and the much more steady, calm personality explained a little more about their lives, who she was, and even told her that he was her twin brother. She didn't know if she bought that, but she liked him better than the other guy.

Long haired guy, also known as Sam, had a really emotional, expressive face and the way he looked at her, she definitely believed that he knew her and was going through a lot from seeing her but… it was weird. Weird. However, he definitely calmed her down and talked more sense than the other one did. He promised they'd figure everything out but until then she just needed to breathe and take it one minute at a time. He answered the few questions she came up with (stuff like "how old am I?" and "where are we going?"). But she'd run out of questions and retreated inward, not sure if she even trusted these guys to tell her the truth or not. Also, she didn't know if she wanted to know more, to be honest. It was so overwhelming and scary.

They had driven and driven under the cover of darkness in a car full of weird tension then they had stopped around two or three in the morning because the brothers were both so tired and Dean kept saying he just wanted to get blitzed and crash and then wake up in another century. Additionally, Sam looked vaguely sick, like maybe he had a virus or the flu or something.

When they got to a ramshackle roadside motel, the short-haired one asked for one room at the front. One room for all three of them. Alex had immediately been against that idea—sleeping in the same room with two strange men? No way. She said she needed her own room and that request seemed to equally piss off and sadden the grumpy one. But she wasn't going to apologize for it and he just gave some brusque "yeah, fine, whatever," comment and got another room for her to have to herself. He then got a bottle of whiskey out of the back of his car and disappeared. Not really comfortable or sure of what was happening, Alex shut herself into the motel room (with Sam being the one who ushered her there and hovered sort of awkwardly as he did). Once alone, she tried to get a grip. After that, she heard the brothers arguing loudly next door about things she couldn't quite make out. They both sounded angry and exhausted and more than a little bit at their wit's end. And then something glass broke, a door shut hard, and all went silent.

That only served to scare her more. Fighting reminded her of Naomi. And she didn't like those memories. She wanted answers about who she was but the ones she had gotten up to that point didn't feel right. It was scary to not know who you were or who anyone else was. What if I never remember? That was the worst thought of all. She remembered some things of course. Basic things like how to read, how to throw a punch (as Dean had proved), and that her junkfood snack of choice was these chocolate-iced Hostess brand cupcakes from the vending machine. She had known every lyric to a Guns N' Roses song that had played on the radio when they'd been driving here, but didn't know her own family (if they were her family). That was worrisome. She remembered how to tie her shoe (she tested that in the privacy of her motel room) and how to whistle, how to do a cartwheel. But the things that really seemed to matter were all left empty and blank in her mind. Her own face even startled her when she met with the motel bathroom mirror. She studied herself for a long time in earnest. She was built lean with surprisingly strong muscles beneath smooth, pale skin and she had some kind of demonic-looking tattoo on her side just over her ribcage. That tattoo had startled her when she first found it. Shouldn't she know herself even if she didn't know anything else? But everything about herself was unknown.

Well, there was something. Something small. Something she didn't understand the meaning of. She had one small, strong flash of a memory and didn't understand what it was or what it meant. It was sparks falling like rain against darkness, and a feeling of thunderstruck amazement or terror, she wasn't sure which. She turned this memory over and over again in her mind, straining to remember more. But so far, she got nothing else.

Besides that, all she ever remembered really knowing was Naomi and bright white sterile rooms and people in business suits. She had been in a docile, brain-dead trance the entire time. But she remembered Castiel, whose name she learned because Naomi was always using it to address him. He had spellbinding blue eyes that always communicated silent, soulful things to her. He had breathtaking wings that were black as night. And he had always fought to get to Alex every time he had laid eyes on her. Several other angels always held him back, preventing him from doing so. When he wasn't around, Alex had been thrown into a room by herself and when the angels left her side, so did the light. Everything became dark and empty around her and scary. She'd been mute, disoriented, constantly feeling drugged and stupid with no real grasp of time, space, or reality.

Today, Castiel had ended her imprisonment and ripped her out of her proverbial chains. He'd saved her. But that didn't answer a burning question: who was he? And who was she? Honestly, she was lost and dazed even now, maybe more so than before. She needed to be saved again, but this time from the blank space inside. She wished the angel in the trench coat would come back because he would have answers that no one else did. She knew that for reasons she couldn't explain. And honestly, these two strange Winchester men didn't feel safe for her to be around. Granted she had barely had any time to gauge them, but… she really thought she'd be safer on her own. So, Alex decided to leave. Slip out quietly and just figure out things on her own. Wait for the angel to reappear.

She had nothing with her and nothing to pack. It was still the middle of the night, so it was the optimal time to slip away undetected. She hadn't heard any noise from the brothers' room next door in over an hour. They must be asleep. Quietly because she was paranoid to be discovered, Alex tiptoed to the door of her motel room, opened it carefully… then swore softly and threw all her weight into keeping the door from slamming open. Something heavy was sagged against the door and the second she opened it, the unknown object began to tumble into her room ungracefully. Even as she struggled to keep the door from flying open, the heavy thing snorted then made a half-asleep sound like "huh wha?" and abruptly caught himself mid-fall, taking all of his weight off the door. Alex gaped, clutching the door's edge and staring down at the source of all that weight. It was the tall guy—Sam—and he'd been asleep sitting up against her door, from the looks of it. Seriously?! In this chilly, damp weather?! And with his cold, too?! Was he insane? Whatever he was, he was awake now, as you would be when the door you were sleeping against suddenly wasn't there anymore.

"Hey," he managed in a sleep-rough voice. He was standing up stiffly with bleary eyes and Alex noticed again how he was tall. And not just tall, he was big. Like huge broad shoulders and big arms and a massive, burly chest. Definitely a guy who was totally capable of killing her just by sitting on her. But he had really soft, soulful eyes and every time he'd talked to her today, he had this undercurrent of deeply caring worry to his voice. Even now, with a slightly red nose and a sleepy, woozy expression, he didn't seem to have a thought for himself. "Uh… you okay?" he asked, looking at her in genuine concern. He was struggling to wake up. "Need something?"

Alex looked at him strangely, holding herself behind the door and its false sense of security. "…Why were you sleeping at my door?" she asked, both suspicious and intrigued.

"Uh…" He didn't say it outright, but he didn't lie either. "Just in case."

Just in case she tried to run away. Well that was kind of awkward. "Well…" she said, trying to cast around for an excuse. "I can't sleep and I'm tired of being in here, so…"

Sam hesitated, rubbed a bloodshot eye, made a soft, tired sound, then gestured toward the cold night. "You wanna go for a walk?" He smiled tentatively when she hesitated and wondered if she did wanna go for a walk. "You go for a lot of walks," he supplied.

So weird to hear yourself talked about like that. Do I? Go for a lot of walks? Alex contemplated tall guy a couple seconds longer and decided fine. Yes. She wouldn't mind walking some restless energy off and maybe getting a better feel for this Sam Winchester guy. Her gut instinct said that he wouldn't hurt her. "Okay." But she wasn't gonna let her guard down... just in case.

Before they left, Sam insisted she wear a jacket and he got her one of Dean's out of the back of the car ("all of yours are at the bunker, sorry if this one's too big"). It was. Her fingertips barely came out of the sleeves. But it was warm and sort of comforting, the smell reminded her of something nice that she couldn't recall and she was glad he'd thought of it.

They walked aimlessly for a few minutes in silence underneath buzzing old streetlights. Sam yawned a few times and ran fingers through his long hair, blinking a bunch to wake himself up. He coughed a few times and tried to be discreet about it and Alex hoped he wouldn't get sicker because of this. She walked on the sidewalk and Sam walked beside her on the street beside the sidewalk, which made him seem a little shorter and safer, too. He kept his hands in his pockets and looked at her sidelong a lot with a tense, masked face. She looked at him sidelong a lot, too, trying to size him up and recognize him even as, simultaneously, she felt kind of crappy that he had been sleeping outside with his cold because of her. One question kept bugging her. If he really was her brother, wouldn't some part of her know it in some basic way? Recognize him right off? Especially since they were supposedly twins…

A tiny smile came over Sam's face when she kicked an old soda can sideways on a whim. He kicked it, too, surprising her with his fast reflexes. Their gazes caught and his smile seemed reminiscent, if pained. At her questioning look, Sam cleared his throat. "We uh, we used to do this a lot, you and me," he said in a semi-awkward tone, trying not to be too intense. "Just wander around. When we were kids. Especially on nights when Dean was gone." He went off into his own head and recalled something Alex had no memory of whatsoever. "Man, one time you wandered off when it was just you and me… I fell asleep then woke up and you were just gone. I remember freaking out and looking for you for hours. And the entire time you were on the roof of our motel just stargazing with binoculars, totally chill while I was planning my own funeral for losing you." He sounded rueful, but also like it was a good memory for him.

Alex only heard one thing: children alone at night. But maybe they'd been teens. "How old was I?" she asked, then remembered that they would be the same age because of the twin thing. "Er, were we."

Sam's face scrunched in thought. "Eleven or twelve, maybe?"

That seemed slightly questionable for two twelve-year-olds to be left alone at a motel all night. "Where was our dad?" Alex asked, remembering him being mentioned once in passing. She knew he had 'taken them on the road' as kids and that he was dead now and that was about it.

There was a short laugh at her question from Sam. A laugh that sounded bitter. "No telling. Let's just say he wouldn't ever win father of the year." Sam sighed gustily. "Dean basically raised us because Dad just wasn't there," he continued, his conflicted feelings audible. "And when Dad was there… I dunno, he wasn't present."

Alex tried hard—really hard—to identify with what Sam was saying. But she came up with nothing except a huge wall blocking her out of her own mind and memories. It was the most frustrating feeling she had ever known and she abruptly quit walking, groaning slightly in her frustration, and threw her hands up for a minute. "I seriously, literally can't remember this," she complained, a tight knot of fear and sadness growing tighter in her chest. "Any of it. I keep thinking something will ring a bell but nothing does. Should I go to a hospital?"

Sam, standing street-level, was basically her height since she was still on the sidewalk. His empathetic expression and worried eyes made that knot in her chest even more achy. "Not sure what a hospital could do," he said softly. "Cas made it sound like angels did this to you."

She knew they had, but it still didn't make sense in her mind. "But why would angels do something so bad? I seriously don't get it."

Sam's jaw worked and a muscle jerked in his cheek and for a second, Alex thought she saw his eyes glinting with angry tears on her behalf. But he held it together, let his face work hard, and he answered her neutrally. Maybe to keep from upsetting her further. "They're not always good guys. In fact, most of them are kind of dicks from my experience this far."

"Yeah," Alex agreed quietly. "Me too." Except the one in the trench coat. Castiel. A name she felt flustered even at the thought of. She wanted to see him again... he intrigued her vastly, and she wanted to know more. Trying to hide her oddly intense eagerness on the subject matter, Alex cleared her throat and began walking again, slowly, watching her feet as she did so. She tried to sound blasé. "When will he come back? The one in the trench coat?" Saying his name out loud felt too scary, so she didn't name him.

"Cas?" Sam shook his head faintly and his preoccupied profile remained inscrutable. "I dunno."

Immediate disappointment twinged in her chest, but Alex guessed she could be patient. 'Cas.' Was that their nickname for him? It seemed sort of strange that they would ever use any name other than Castiel. The name Castiel was beautiful. Like a whole poem condensed down into a single word. Eyeing her supposed brother sidelong, Alex decided to dig for a little more information. And, of course, take it with a grain of salt, but still. She had to start piecing this puzzle together somewhere. "He said he was my guardian angel… that's true?"

Sam hesitated and glanced her way furtively before answering. "That's one of his job descriptions, at least."

"Vague…" Alex commented questioningly, wondering why Sam was obviously not saying something.

Sam cleared his throat and feigned nonchalance with a breathy little laugh, but he was definitely uncomfortable. "He's kind of a hard one to completely figure, I guess. Can't put him in a box."

Seemed like a dodge, but Alex decided not to press it. A minute more of silence passed and then she asked about something else she had been wondering about. "Okay, so are we like really twins or are you guys joking with me?"

Sam looked slightly defensive at her question. Like she'd offended him a little. "No. We're twins. Why?"

Alex arched a skeptical brow. "We don't even look alike," she protested faintly. She studied him in relation to herself. Weren't twins supposed to be like freakishly clone-like? They didn't look that similar to her. "Different hair color, skin tones don't match, you're like a freakazoid giant…" she gestured to him then trailed off, realizing that his eyes did look the same color as hers, that he had a similar chin and jawline to her, and that he had a little freckle thing on his left-hand cheek near his nose. She had noticed earlier that she had a freckle, too, and now she realized how similar it was to his. Hers was smaller and near the inner corner of her left-hand eye, but that was kind of too big of a thing to be coincidence. Hmm.

Sam was smiling ruefully at her comment about him being a giant. "Yeah well, we don't look that much alike 'cause I'm pretty sure you stole all the good-looks genes," he teased, and there was a fond undercurrent to his tone. "You win the cute contest by a mile." He shrugged helplessly. "But I dunno what to tell you. Wombmates. Your term, not mine."

"Psh." Alex grinned abruptly, flattered at his compliment and amused at the term. That was the first time she had actually smiled since she could ever remember. It was nice of him to say she was pretty, but he really wasn't so bad himself… weird thing though, she found him zero-percent attractive even though he was incredibly good looking. Actually, she kind of found him sort of repulsive in that sense. How did that work? Huh. Maybe he was her brother. Because who else would you look at and think 'gosh he's super cute but also completely yucko barfo'? She didn't get a chance to think about it further. Her genuine smile seemed to do something to Sam—his expression fell and he abruptly got all sad and puppy-dog eyed, emotional, cluing Alex into the fact that something was wrong. "What?" she asked, mildly worried.

His voice faltered a little, and when he managed to speak, it was vulnerable. He'd been very careful not to say anything that would freak her out up until now, but she sensed that he was about to get really intense. She was right. "I'm just—just really glad you're here," he basically whispered. "That you're back." His eyes were teary, his voice wavered, it looked like he was having a tough time not reaching out and hugging her. "And I just want you to know, I get it. I do. That we seem like strangers to you and you're not sure if you can trust us or not. And that's okay, take all the time you need. No pressure from me. I just want you to feel comfortable and safe." He paused—it was obvious that he loved her, cared about her, and held a special place for her in his heart. Alex swallowed hard, unsure what to do with all that. "But you just need to know—that, that even if you never remember who you are, it doesn't change that I'm your brother and I would do anything for you." He was so severe. So meaningful. "Name it and I'll do it. I got your back, Alex. Anything."

Alex shifted a little, feeling awkward at the very no-holds-barred declaration and his use of her name and… just, well, everything. He seemed to really have put all of himself into that little speech of his and she didn't want to take that away from him, but she was also feeling squirmy and put on the spot. What was she supposed to say to that? She decided to sidestep the more heavy nature of the conversation. "Well, there is something actually," she said, then she spilled the beans a little bashfully as he looked on intently, probably expecting her to ask for something big and important… when all she wanted was fast food. "Can we get some french fries?" She scratched at her ear hesitantly, looking down and away from his intense eyes. "I really want some french fries."

Sam looked like he'd heard wrong—then a little put out—then rueful like he might have known. "Junk food," he said almost to himself, shaking his head slightly then letting out a knowing, half amused sigh through his nose. "Of course." Maintaining a good (if tired) attitude, he gestured down further at the main road. "Think I saw a McDonalds down that way." And that's where they went.

About forty minutes later, they were walking back to the motel and Alex was lamenting her life choices. She held a hand to her protesting stomach and whined as she thought of all the salty french fries she'd scarfed down. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. "Why did I eat so many?"

Sam, who had given her all kinds of you're-crazy-but-funny looks while she'd been pigging out, had a sympathetic wincing smile on his face. "Always trying to tell you guys," he chided fondly. "All that grease just slows you down."

"But french fries are so good…" she mumbled even as another wave of nausea hit thanks to overeating.

Sam looked at her sidelong. "Are they?" he challenged, that smile playing on his lips.

"Urgh, maybe not," Alex conceded pitifully. Not if they were gonna make her feel so shitty afterwards. Although to be fair, she'd eaten two entire burgers and three cartons of fries slathered in ketchup. She gave another pitiful moan and thanked God or whoever that they were finally back at the motel and that she didn't have to walk anymore. She just wanted to curl up and sleep off this food coma she'd put herself in. Possibly puke first, too.

Sam's long legs jogged him over a few steps to the Impala as they crossed the parking lot. He pulled the trunk open and began digging around for something. "I think I have some antacid back here, hold on." Alex waddled over, sick with herself and suddenly hoping please Jesus let there be some Rolaids back there. I am never eating a burger or a french fry ever again. As if on cue, Sam produced a bottle of Tums with a winning smile that made him look a million years younger and healthier. "Bingo." He tossed the bottle toward her, testing her reflexes. She caught it and Sam gave her another joke to lighten her grease-addled spirits. "Take two and call me in the morning."

Alex looked at the Tums he didn't need to get her and thought about the walk he could have refused to let her go on, the fast food he didn't need to buy for her. The things he'd said to her, the sweet and sensitive way he handled himself around her, the slow sense of trust she was developing for this lanky, muscular, plaid-wearing guy. It was making her surprisingly emotional and she looked at his face hard, trying to remember him, trying to recognize the strong jawline and hazel eyes and striking features of his face. But she came up with nothing except that solid wall in her mind that seemed to imprison her inside a place of forgetfulness. "I wish I could remember you," she said softly, genuinely. She almost felt a sense of loss, and it confused her. She offered Sam a sad smile. "Seem like a nice guy."

He faltered. Tried to keep smiling back at her. But somehow, it was forced. "Thanks."

"What?"

Sam shook his head and his mouth worked. "I'm not. A… a nice guy." He closed the trunk and wouldn't meet her eyes. "It's all a stupid act."

Alex felt a slight sense of fear. An act? "What'dyou mean?" she asked cautiously. Was this another trick or something?

No. She realized Sam meant something else when in severe self-loathing, he shrugged and looked off. "I'm… I dunno." He searched for the right way to say it, and when he did, he sounded like he hated himself. "I'm messed up."

Alex immediately felt a huge instance of protectiveness well up inside. Her heart went out to him. But she didn't know him enough to say he wasn't messed up and she wasn't sure if it were her place either, so, she just said the first thing that came to her mind. "Messed up people can be nice." She paused, wondering where she got that logic from. Not like she had life experience to remember and take that from. "I think." Either way, she patted him on the shoulder a couple times. "Buck up, Tallness. It can't be that bad. At least you're not about to barf your guts up everywhere." She rooted around for some antacids and shoved them into her mouth as he walked her back up the side of the motel to her room. "So, see you in the morning," she said, unlocking her door and going inside as she munched on the chalky tablets that were only vaguely fruit flavored as advertised.

When she turned around to shut the door and finish saying goodbye to Sam, he was sitting down in front of the door again, grunting a little as he did so. "Yup, sounds good."

Alex looked at him in slight exasperation, realizing he was going to resume his post just like before. "Really?" she asked, slightly vexed.

He sniffed and zipped his jacket up a little tighter, giving her a brief little glance. "Yeah, really." He hesitated, then gave her his reason somewhat stiffly. "I'm sure as hell not losing you again, and no one's going in without a word with me first, either."

Alex felt the smallest smile on her face. If this was what it was like having a brother, she didn't think she minded it so much. But, she felt bad. Sitting there in the cold with a cold, sitting up to sleep against a hard wooden door and the pavement below? Her smile fell because she was really feeling worried now. "But that can't feel good though," she ventured.

Sam brushed it off in a way meant to reassure her. "I'll live. Go get some sleep, Shortstack. Lemme know if you need anything."

Alex hesitated. She couldn't just leave him out there. Argh. Annoyed at herself, she gave a huge, dramatic sighing groan. "Fine," she muttered peevishly, then opened the door wider with a petulant yank. "Just… come sleep inside the door, moron," she grumbled. "You'll catch your death out there." Sam looked semi-shocked at her command. "I have a pillow and there's an extra blanket in the closet."

Gathering his wits, Sam shook his head, becoming really decisive. "No, no no no, I'm fine out here," he insisted, not wanting to impose or whatever. Alex gave him a death glare that came from the depths of her soul and he withered slightly underneath it then held his hands up in mock protest, getting to his feet while he did. "Okay, you convinced me."

Although she acted like she didn't like it, Alex sort of did like it. Being alone didn't feel exactly right to her, and Sam's presence felt more and more reassuring and familiar, even if she didn't remember him.

He came into the warm motel room with her and he remained a safe distance at all times, staying near the door for the most part. Alex threw a pillow at him and then the extra blankets from the closet. He gave a very small, humble thank you then settled in. Thanks to the exhausting weight of all the food she had eaten plus the new, growing sense of security, Alex crawled into bed, shoes and all, then promptly fell asleep without any worries about being murdered in her sleep. In the morning, when she woke up to Sam laying against the door and snoring with his big old mouth hanging open, she smiled a little and fought the sudden urge to play some kind of prank on him. She decided he must be her brother, and although she didn't know him, she was pretty sure they had been best friends before. The other guy… not so much. She didn't think she liked Dean.

After Sam went and woke up a very hungover and sullen Dean, the three of them were subject to another long haul in the car, which turned out to be a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. It was a beautiful car for sure, but again, the tension inside of it during the several-hour drive was awkward and Alex felt nothing but anxiety the more time dragged on. She still remembered nothing. She'd woken up hoping that sleep might have given her some glimpse into herself. Maybe through a dream or something. But she'd dreamt of nothing but Naomi holding her down and screaming unintelligible things, greasy french fries raining from the ceiling and making her sick from the smell, and Castiel being out of hearing distance when she called to him for help.

Quiet and inwardly disturbed, Alex felt alone. Sam and Dean seemed on stilted terms and Dean kept glancing at Alex in the rear view and asking her questions like, "do you remember this? Do you remember that? What about this? How about that? Does the term Wendigo ring any bells? Stanford? Chuck? The Apocalypse? You know what that penny you wear is for? What is May the second? You remember Lucifer? How about Bobby?" His questions continued endlessly in an increasingly badgering fashion and Sam finally told Dean to take it easy and Dean snapped something rude then fell into frustrated silence until they arrived to a place the guys called "the bunker."

When they took her inside, Alex was overwhelmed by the size of the place. Having forged a more solid connection with Sam, Alex stuck by him and Dean commented on that churlishly, almost like a jealous boyfriend then he stalked off, presumably to go be angry in private. Alex again thought about how much she disliked him and asked Sam how she and Dean had gotten along before. She was expecting to hear that they hadn't gotten along. When he said that they had been inseparable and best friends, Alex thought he was joking. "No, that was us. You and me. You're kidding!" she'd protested, because obviously Sam was nicer and more relatable and easy to be around and Dean was… a pushy, temper-driven jerk. Sam looked touched but said that no—that she and Dean had always been closer. And that, in fact, he'd always felt like the outsider in comparison, often jealous of their close bond.

Mystified, Alex mulled that over in her mind and wondered what kind of person she was before to have been best friends with the forever-glaring, stormy-faced alcoholic brother. As she contemplated these things, Sam showed her to the bedroom section of the bunker and said she could pick from all of them except the two that he and Dean had claimed. She peeked at them all.

When she picked the room with the skylight and the built-in bookshelf and the bathroom, Sam got this emotional smile on his face and said he knew she would pick that one. He'd then shown her some of her stuff that he'd already put there: Some old pictures she didn't recognize, a Zippo lighter, a knife that needed to be sharpened, some clothes, and a duffel bag with various other belongings therein. She looked through the items with interest and he watched, letting her discover at her own pace.

Dean showed up about then and began to drag Alex around the bunker to show her a million things, trying to jog her memory. One thing was for sure… he wasn't as gentle as Sam. He was abrasive, impatient, and highly sensitive. Like, easy to offend or something. Alex got more and more turned off the longer he tried with her. He got pissed when he showed her 'Dad's journal' and she looked at it like it was an alien spaceship. He paced around and muttered under his breath when he showed her some shirt that was apparently her treasure on earth—apparently he'd gotten signed by Aerosmith frontman Steven Tyler. "But this was your favorite damn shirt!" he'd protested when she shook her head no. And it was like he thought that statement alone was supposed to somehow solve all her problems. But she had never seen that shirt before in her life. Dean then only proceeded to get more irate when she could inexplicably identify car engine parts but didn't recognize old family pictures.

Getting upset with his pushing, Alex finally lost her temper and told him to shove it up his ass and leave her alone then stomped off to her room and again decided she didn't want to be here. Sam was nice and she really liked him a lot, but Dean seemed to run the show and he was really rubbing her the wrong way. She would really just rather not.

After calming herself down (which took awhile, honestly), she peeked out of her room and glanced around. Neither brother was visible or audible. She silently slipped down the hallway and crept through the library then eyed the way out. It was a metal staircase up to ground level. It looked clear—no sign of anyone. She could slip out and just leave or take a breather. Maybe try calling to Castiel. Would an angel come if you called for them? She thought they would. Well, he would. She hoped. With that thought in mind, she went towards the staircase. Then froze when Dean, apparently lying in wait, appeared out of the shadows with crossed arms, blocking her way. "Going somewhere?" he asked sort of cool and sly. He played his cards close to the chest and Alex eyed him caustically, disliking the glint in his eyes.

"If I was, would you stop me?" she challenged. She could see him forcing her to stay against her will easily, and distaste turned her stomach yet again.

He shrugged, impassive. "It's a free country," he said in that deep, gravelly voice. "But wandering around with no memory and running off from the only two guys in the world who are looking out for you… not exactly the smartest idea."

He talked to her like he was patronizing her, admonishing her, and lecturing her all at once. Three things she immediately hated. "I lost my memories, I'm not brain dead," she replied in an acidic tone. "I can take care of myself."

His eyebrows raised up at that statement. "Oh, like you did when an angel trapped you, tortured you, then held you captive in Heaven for three months?" Stung by his very carefully aimed verbal jab, Alex could find no reply and the appalled, hurt look on her face seemed to affect Dean, who softened regretfully. "Look. I'm trying to keep you safe, okay?" Well he sure had a funny way of doing it. "Me and Sam?" His tone was blunt and commanding. "We're not the enemy."

Alex eyed him mistrustfully. "How do I know that? This could be a trick." She glanced at the staircase behind him—the way out—and her nostrils flared with impatience and frustration before she looked him in the eye again. "I want to see the angel again."

Dean looked mystified. "Who, Naomi?"

Well that was the stupidest guess in the world. "No." She pushed her mouth into a thin line, trying to muster the bravery. "C-Castiel." Saying his name out loud for the first time left her tongue tied and a little breathless.

Dean reacted by looking incredibly irritated, then in rapid succession, depressed. He let out a disgusted sigh and halfway rolled his eyes. "Of course you do." He rubbed his face with his palm tiredly.

"I remember him," Alex said, defending her reasoning. "From Heaven. He was always trying to get to me. He's the only one I remember. Not you. Not Sam." Dean looked slighted, and Alex said the next part without giving it much thought. "I don't even think I like you." Much less trust him or want to be around him.

A surprising sweep of hurt showed on Dean's face, which he quickly tried to conceal with a short, glib retort. "Well, Cas, as we call him, left you here with us. Remember? So if he's trustworthy like you're saying, trust that you're safe here, okay?" Sam could have said the same thing but it would have been tender, kind, and empathetic. Dean saying that sounded like a pissed-off command given out of sheer annoyance.

He wasn't helping at all. So she let a sarcastic comment fly as if it were second-nature. "You always have this shitty of an attitude?"

Apparently, that was the right thing to say to him to make him realize what an ass he was being. His shoulders sagged slightly and he wet his lips as his features showed pain and struggle. A short, charged sigh came out of his mouth. "Look, Al," he started, and that was the same nickname he'd used for her a few other times and she felt weird about it. "I am sorry but right now I'm just really having a hard time dealing wi—"

"Stop calling me that, will you?" she asked, cutting him off mid-sentence. She didn't care about his hard time—he was being a jerk to her, plain and simple. "'Al' is a dude's name." And technically so was Alex, but dammit, she couldn't handle this guy and his I'm-the-boss attitude, so she grappled for some semblance of control. "It's Alex." She hesitated, because she did have amnesia and the name kind of meant nothing to her. "Apparently." Dean was looking at her with these raw eyes that made her suddenly feel totally on the spot. "What?" she asked, defensive.

He shook his head so faintly. "I—I just don't get how you can't remember." His voice broke on the word remember, and the look on his face was so emotional that Alex had to step back a bit.

He was weirding her out, majorly. "Well don't cry about it," she muttered, feeling embarrassed and unsure of why. And then she realized he was about to cry and she felt immediately terrible. "Oh my god. Uh—no—hey, stop," she said as he turned away and hid his face. Her skin crawled with hot discomfort. "Don't do that."

Dean tried to keep his macho-man voice on. "Just go away, okay? I'm fine." But he wasn't fine. He was very upset and obviously fighting off tears.

Regretting her actions—this guy was supposedly her oldest brother—and she guessed this had to be hard on him and that her comments were kind of heartless. "I'm sorry," she apologized woodenly, humiliated and unsure of what to do. She stood there like a stick and didn't move. He had brought it on himself, though. Was she supposed to just accept his shit attitude? Either way… "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Forget it," he muttered gruffly, still not looking at her. "I'm fine." And then he abruptly headed up the stairs and went outside, slamming the huge, heavy metal door behind himself.

Alex stared after him with a churning stomach. She heard a soft sound and glanced over—Sam was entering the room and had apparently seen at least the tail end of the exchange. Swallowing her discomfort, Alex looked after Dean again. "W-where's he going?"

Sam looked sorry about what had just happened. "Jamie's grave I'm guessing."

Alex hesitated. "Jamie?"

"His, uh—his girlfriend." Sam was grim. "She died pretty recently. Things were pretty serious between them and Dean took it really hard."

Alex stared at the doorway Dean had disappeared through. She felt a sinking sensation. "Oh," she said dumbly.

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

Pain. Was his behavior all because of pain? Not because he was just some asshole with a complex? Alex turned her attention more to Sam, flustered. "I didn't mean to say anything wrong," she said, trying to excuse herself. "He's just kinda rude and I got mad."

Sam cracked a crooked, tiny smile for her benefit, and the effect was immediate reassurance. "It's okay. He's just… more stressed out and depressed than usual and he's taking your memory loss really personal. He definitely shouldn't." It was Sam's turn to look at the silent doorway with a forlorn expression—his voice grew a little less sure. "He yells at everyone, not just you."

Alex frowned, forgetting about Dean in favor of realizing that Sam looked markedly worse than last time she'd seen him. Paler and more drawn. "Hey… you don't look so good." Worry made her tone dip down.

Sam grew mildly embarrassed. He tried to sidestep her concern. "I'm fine. Just really tired."

"Not on drugs then?" Alex asked, a half joke. Only a half-joke, though. "You… look kinda like you're on drugs."

Sam chuckled weakly. "Not on drugs," he said, then cleared his throat. His chest sounded raspy and wet, like he had some kind of sinus infection that had settled into his respiratory system. He really sounded sick, poor guy. But he shrugged it off. "It's the trials, I guess," he said. "One of the many things Dean mentioned in the car when he was trying to memory-pummel you into remembering everything." He made a concerted effort to look like he felt okay. "But I'm good. You don't need to worry. I've had it worse."

Yeah right. He was obviously miserable and Alex felt a lurch of fondness tug at her heart. "You're a modest one, aren't you?" she asked, knowing he would probably deny that he felt bad until the cows came home. So she decided to take the initiative. "Want some soup? Maybe I can fix you something." The kitchen was over there, Sam had pointed it out earlier on their tour.

Sam's face fell into a weirdly confused and amused expression. "Uh, you can't cook," he said, clearly holding back on some desire to poke fun at her for it.

Alex's eyebrows shot up high. "Excuse me?" That sounded like a challenge. "Psh. I can't cook." That sounded like a joke. She went off to the kitchen to prove him wrong and he followed with a tired smile on his face as he shook his head.

A little later, Sam ventured out of the bunker and to the gravesite where, as predicted, Dean was sitting and staring. He had his knees up and widely set with his arms over them. His posture was terrible, his expression was worse. From there, he could see the bunker door so Sam wasn't worried about Alex running off without him knowing. He sat beside Dean where he could still see the door, then gave his brother a moment of silence before he asked. "Hey. You okay?"

Dean answered flatly without missing a beat. "Sam, I haven't been okay in years."

Sam wished Dean were joking about that but knew he wasn't. This long and steady decline into brokenness had been quite a process. And these days, Sam was learning that even Dean couldn't hold it all together forever. Growing up, Dean had seemed invincible and unbreakable. Tenacious to his core, capable of taking the weight no matter how heavy. But ever since Purgatory and everything that had happened surrounding that, Dean seemed cracked in half and close to shattering now with Jamie's death. Sam knew that if this entire thing with Alex had happened a few years ago, Dean's reaction to finding out she was still alive would have been worlds different. But Dean couldn't get past his own emotions and see the situation for what it was. Sam knew he had to be the man of the hour this time and see his family through. After his failure last year, this was only fitting. Sam felt that he deserved what he'd chosen (the trials, this misery, the idea that he was probably heading toward a young death). But he worried about Dean. And he worried about Alex, too. Especially now.

"What about you?" Dean prompted.

The question startled Sam, who didn't know what he was being asked. "Huh? What about me what?"

"You okay?"

"Oh." Sam breathed out and nodded tensely. "Uh... yeah. Yeah. Hanging in there."

He could feel Dean's worry-tight gaze on the side of his face and knew his brother could see how physically ill he looked. It was getting worse every day. "Feeling okay?"

No. Not at all. But Sam lied. "Yeah, I mean… yeah."

The two of them had fought last night. About Dean drinking, about Sam leaving... all the same old same old they always went around about. But today neither of them had the energy or desire to do it again. In fact, Dean surprised and touched Sam deeply when he made the offer he made next. "Sam, it's not too late. I can do this for you." Sam looked at his brother with a tight, emotional chest. He could tell that Dean meant it but was also so broken inside he was incapable of doing what he said he could. "Say the word and I'll get off the bench and trade with you."

It was an olive branch. A reminder that they were brothers forever, even when they hated each other and fought and didn't see eye to eye. Sam shook his head, refusing to let his big brother swoop in and take the hits for him. "No Dean." He mustered his certainty and resolve and committed himself anew to this task. "I'm gonna do this. I got this one. You've done enough."

Dean stared off into the landscape blindly, his face twisted into a mask of pain and fear. "I just keep thinking about where this is going and what it'll do to you."

Sam's heart clenched because the care and love he heard in his brother's voice was something he desperately needed to hear. Getting slightly emotional as he marched forward and stood tall in this mission, Sam looked Dean dead in the eye. "It's closing the gates of Hell. I mean, it's bound to come with a pretty big price tag. You know I know that." When Dean's face twisted in protest, Sam grasped his shoulder and squeezed. "It's gonna be okay, Dean. There's a light at the end of this tunnel."

Appearing no emotionally older than ten, Dean shook his head. "Do you really believe that, man? After all we been through?"

"Yeah. I do." Sam smiled tightly through it all because he didn't have to lie about that. "I mean, not a perfect ending and not a happily ever after but… it's demons gone. And Hell shut down. And that's not too shabby."

Dean went silent and stony, thinking hard. Then his eyes tellingly shifted to the bunker. "You seen Space Cadet?"

Sam couldn't stifle a smile and chuckle. "Yeah. She made me soup." He made a face and corrected himself. "Tried to make me soup." He was laughing again. "How do you mess up a can of damn soup? Only Alex." She'd added too much water, he was pretty sure. Even without her memories, she sucked in the kitchen. And he loved that because it was familiar, it was her.

Dean didn't share Sam's amusement. He looked only sicker and sicker. "I gotta figure out a way to make her remember, man…"

Sam looked at his brother cautiously. "Dean… there's a pretty big possibility that she won't ever—"

"Sam." Dean gave him a look like he better not say what he was about to say.

Sam knew it was hard to acknowledge, but they weren't doing themselves any favors by pretending she would magically just remember everything. An angel had done that to her—it wasn't human amnesia. It was magical. And possibly permanent. "No, listen," he said firmly and kindly, trying to be balanced. "Dean, we need to brace ourselves. She might never remember. It might never really fully come back. I mean, an angel did that to her."

Dean didn't like that at all and got agitated, but in a way that was rooted in helplessness and fear. "Dude, she has to remember. Has to."

"But what if she doesn't?" Sam prompted gently.

"She will," Dean insisted, and Sam could almost hear the missing if it kills me, that his brother didn't say. Dean continued on, miserable. "She's not Alex, Sam. Not really. Without her memories, she's just not her. She's a civilian. And you know what happens to civilians around here." He looked at Jamie's grave and even though Jamie wasn't a civilian by any means, Sam got Dean's implication. People who ran with them died.

But he was angry at Dean's attitude and didn't bother hiding his tone, either. "She is her," he fired back earnestly. "So she doesn't remember herself. That doesn't make her any less of our sister or our family. And if you're afraid of her getting hurt, stop whining about how bad you have it and step up and protect her. Simple."

Usually that kind of comment would provoke Dean into a spitfire argument. But tonight, Dean just sank further into his depression. "I just need one thing to go right for us, Sam. One thing. Is that too much to ask for?"

Sam was getting pretty frustrated with Dean's shortsightedness. "Dean. Our sister is alive. We thought she was dead and she's not. Call me crazy but I'm counting that as a win! Come on, man. This is a good thing. Ideal? No. But bad? Definitely not." He waited for Dean to see his point.

And Dean did nod wearily and sigh and say, "You're right. You're right." He shook his head, forlorn. "But I'm so tired, Sam. So freaking tired of feeling all this." Sam looked at his brother sidelong and said nothing else, just thought and thought and wished he knew how to get through to Dean. And then, softly, Dean posed a quiet question he sounded apprehensive about. "Can I be honest with you right now?" He swallowed, shook his head, gazed at Jamie's grave yet again. Sam waited on pins and needles, sensing that this was important. "I'm… I'm not so sure about slamming the gates. Not... not with James down there." Sam's expression fell slightly even as Dean looked him in the eye with a pained expression. "I've been to Hell. I know what it's like. And I can't stand the thought of her there stuck there forever."

Sam knew this wouldn't be well-received, but he went ahead and said it anyway. "I know. But I dunno what to tell you except get to reading, Dean. And hope to God you can find a way to get her out before I finish this. Because Hell needs to get shut down. We can't leave it open because of one person."

That comment sparked angry life to Dean. In a spirited, angry retort that was different than the rest of his woe-is-me behavior that night, Dean gave Sam an ugly look. "Oh yes we can, Sam."

That was a dangerous, dangerous mindset and Sam felt his stomach sinking. Would this become a roadblock for them? Had Dean already decided not to do this? Was he going to attempt to sabotage his efforts? Sam felt dread knotting inside. "Dean? You with me on this?" he asked carefully, wondering what the hell he would do if Dean said no.

Dean shook his head, clearly at a loss for what to do. His answer was noncommittal. "Right now… I honestly don't know."