Thank you all for the reviews for Chapter One. It's great to see who's sticking with me and the story. Thank you MaggieMay17 for beta'ing, and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading.

Chapter Two

Nick stood in front of the sink in the bunker's clinic and braced his hands on the counter, bowing his head as his chest heaved, and his mind swirled with thoughts and images.

Nick stared longingly at the candy bar held out by a six-year-old Sam as he said, "Fine, you can have mine, too."

Nick grabbed it and beamed. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam looked pointedly away. "Whiner."

Nick's face fell, and he looked at the candy bar in his hand. He'd already eaten his own, and it had been good, but Sam's was the best one. Nick had wanted the Payday, but Bobby had given it to Sam.

He tore off the paper and split the candy bar into two, then held out the biggest half to Sam. "We can share."

Sam looked at the offering for a moment, then grabbed it, carried it away, and climbed onto the couch beside Bobby. He curled up next to him as he nibbled the candy slowly, making it last as Nick gulped down his half in three bites.

"You're a good kid, Sam," Bobby said, ruffling Sam's hair.

Nick yanked himself out of the memory and squeezed his hands into fists so tight his nails dug into the skin of his palms.

He couldn't do this. There was something more important that he was supposed to be doing. Dean was waiting for him. They were supposed to be…

Nick moaned as his heart squeezed painfully in his chest. They were supposed to be tending to Sam. Dean wanted to get him out of the bloody clothes and cleaned up for when Billie came—and she had to come. If she didn't…

He jerked his head to the side, dispelling the horrifying thought.

Neither he nor Dean wanted Sam waking up—and he had to wake up, he couldn't stay dead—covered in his own blood.

He pulled open the drawer and took out the scissors that would be sharp enough to cut through Sam's undershirt. He set them on the counter then grabbed a stainless-steel bowl from the cupboard and bundle of washcloths and a towel. He placed it all into the bowl and carried it out and towards Dean's bedroom.

Nick had offered his own bedroom for Sam, somewhere better than one of the anonymous rooms they'd not yet installed someone in, but Dean had said his room was better. Nick understood it; he'd wanted his things to be what surrounded Sam when he woke, too, but he'd given in to Dean as he obviously needed it more than him.

He drew a breath and walked back to Dean's room and entered. Dean was standing beside the bed. His tortured thoughts were as clear as they would be if written on his face. His wet and horrified eyes fixed on their brother, who lay perfectly still on the blankets.

The front of Sam's shirt had a gash in it where the blade had entered, and it was soaked with blood. There was blood on Dean's shirt too from where he'd cradled Sam's body. Nick's clothes bore the same stains. His sleeves were wet from where he had held Sam's back, the spot Nick himself had stabbed him, and there was a tacky patch over his chest and stomach from where he'd held his brother, clung to his body as the pain had rent his chest, as the blood soaked in from the wound where Nick had…

He bit back a sob and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. He had to be strong. This pain, the agony he, Dean, and Mary were feeling, was his didn't get to be the broken one that they would feel compelled to comfort.

"I got it all," he said when Dean showed no awareness of his return.

Dean nodded jerkily and sucked in a shaky breath. "You need to change. He can't see all that blood."

Nick set the bowl down on the desk and went to the dresser to get clean clothes for them. Dean's shirts were folded neatly, and Nick took a blue one for himself and a white one for Dean. He could have easily gone to his room to get one of his own for himself, but he and Dean were close enough in size for him to not need to bother, and he didn't want to leave his brothers alone again.

He peeled off his ruined shirt and damped one of the washcloths then cleaned the blood that had seeped through the cotton to his skin. He dried himself and then rinsed the cloth and gave it to Dean. "Your turn."

Dean looked blankly at the cloth, seeming to have trouble connecting the actions needed, then dropped it into the sink and unbuttoned his shirt.

Satisfied that Dean was on track, Nick unbuttoned Sam's shirt then used the scissors to cut down the middle of the undershirt. The wound was centered over Sam's heart, such a small and neat thing for one that had done so much damage.

He heard a rustle and the sound of running water, and a minute later, Dean appeared in his line of sight with the bowl full of steaming water, wearing his clean shirt.

"We need to get the shirts off properly," Nick said. "Can you help me?"

Dean set the bowl down on a towel then knelt on the bed and pulled Sam towards him with a hand on his hip and another on his shoulder. Nick unthreaded his arm and tucked the shirts down so they would be easier to get it out from under him on the other side when they rolled him again.

"What happened to his back?" Dean asked. "That's not what I did, is it?" He bit his lip. "I didn't go that deep, not right through."

Nick squeezed his eyes closed, traitor tears slipping from beneath the lids, and said, "It was me. I stabbed him."

He didn't even hear Dean breathe in reaction, and he tentatively opened his eyes to gauge his expression. Dean's face was blank. It was the eyes that showed his shock and pain.

"I'm sorry," Nick said quickly. "I thought I… And… I'm so sorry, Dean."

"You were scared," Dean stated. "So was I. I panicked."

"It wasn't your fault."

"And it wasn't yours."

Nick felt sick that Dean was defending him. He wanted blame and accusation. He wanted Dean to punish him, to hurt him in the same way physically as he was hurting emotionally.

Nick was the one that had openly tried to murder his brother. It would have been his blow that killed him if Nick's aim had been better, if Sam's hadn't arched away. But he'd not been the one; it had been Dean's strike that killed. Because of what Nick did, Dean had been forced to kill his little brother. That knowledge, that guilt, made Nick feel like he was being burned alive.

"Why didn't we remember him?" Dean asked, lowering Sam to the bed again and drawing Nick's attention from his tortured mind.

"I don't know," Nick replied. "But I really didn't. It was all gone. I didn't even remember having a brother at all. Sam was just Lucifer's vessel. Whoever took our memories…"

"They're going to die," Dean said with no more inflection than if he was talking about the weather. "Roll him over."

Nick obeyed, and Dean removed the shirts from Sam's arm and threw them onto the floor.

Nick adjusted Sam so that he looked comfortable, his fingers lingering over the back of Sam's hand, and then retrieved the washcloth and began to wipe it over Sam's chest. He moved carefully around the killing wound as if it would still be tender, stupidly wanting to save him more pain.

Dean followed his path with a towel, drying his skin, and then they rolled him again and did his back.

As they worked, Nick fought an inner war with himself. Cries of pain, the audible proof of what he was feeling, wanted to slip from him, but he didn't get to break in front of Dean. He didn't get to cry over the body of the brother that died because of him.

Dean pushed Sam's bangs back from his face and stared down at him, seeming lost in his thoughts.

"He's not going to fit into one of your shirts," Nick said quietly, wanting to break through Dean's painful absorption. "We don't have anything here of his."

For the year of the apocalypse, when Lucifer was running around with Sam as a vessel, they'd carried Sam's duffel in the trunk of the Impala along with their own, always hoping that he would be back to need it one day. But when Nick and Dean reconnected after the Cage, when Nick had been soulless, it had been gone, and Nick had never asked what happened to it.

"I've got a hoodie that should fit," Dean said. "Bottom drawer."

Nick retrieved the hoodie and carried it back to the bed and then stopped as his mind filled with images again.

Sam accepted the bag Nick was offering him and pulled out the bundle of black fabric and unfolded it, revealing the word Stanford picked out in cardinal red.

"It's a hoodie," Nick supplied. "I got it when I went for orientation. Dean's got one, too."

Sam smiled slightly for a moment, and then a scowl took its place. "I'll be careful not to get monster brains on it when I'm killing them while you're in class."

Nick's heart sank as his gesture fell flat. He'd just wanted Sam and Dean to share in the smallest part of the life he was going to be living. He thought they'd get a kick out of the shirts. It got cold in cheap motels in winter with their subpar heating systems. He'd hoped Sam would see what he was offering, a piece of the life he was going to have now.

"Sammy," Dean scolded gently.

Sam forced a smile. "It's great, Nick. Thanks."

Nick knew he didn't mean it, that he was still struggling to understand Nick's choice to study when there were more important things to do in the world.

"Nick!" The way Dean said his name made it clear it wasn't the first time he'd said it.

"Sorry. I was…" He sucked in an unsteady breath. "I'm still remembering things. It's like visions, but it's actual memories."

Dean frowned. "You've got gaps?"

"No, it's more like I'm getting flashes of things that happened, like they're just hitting me again. I think it's all there, but some come stronger than others. It's happened a couple of times." He shook his head and returned his attention to something he could control. "Let's get him dressed again."

They maneuvered Sam into the hoodie and laid him back on the bed. Nick took the bowl of stained water, tipped it down the drain, and then put the bloody washcloths and ruined shirts into the bowl.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and said, "What are we going to do, Nicky?"

"Billie will come," Nick assured him. "She will. We just have to wait."

"And if she doesn't?" Dean looked away from Sam, and Nick saw the fresh tears on his cheeks. "If he's really… What do we do if he doesn't come back? How do I live knowing what I did?"

Nick understood exactly how Dean felt, as he felt the same. It was his fear, too. They'd lost Sam years ago, and the wounds had been raw for a long time, but they'd found a way to live with them. Neither of them forgot him and what they'd lost, but they handled it. He wasn't sure he could do that again, not after what he'd done.

Seeing that photograph of Lucifer in Sam's body back in the Brit's compound, when Hess had been trying to bargain for her life, had been like a blow to the gut from a sledgehammer. If Lucifer had been using Sam as a vessel again, there was a chance they could get him back. Nick had been so tempted in that moment to let Hess live, to seize the chance to have Sam back with her help, but he'd put the mission first. The Brits had destroyed so much, and they had to be stopped. So did Lucifer.

When they'd got Lucifer out of the president and Crowley had put him back in Sam, they'd hoped they could get Sam back by expelling Lucifer. But before they'd had a chance, they'd had to stop him getting to his son, and that had ended with Lucifer and Mary trapped in that world.

They'd lost them both: their mother and Sam.

Nick had been able to handle knowing he'd lost his chance to get Sam back as he'd had so many years without him, but he'd not been able to lose his mother before he even had a chance to really know her.

But now, knowing they'd been so close to having Sam back, for him to die because of what Nick had done… It was unbearable.

"He never told us," Dean said weakly. "He knew who we were, he remembered, so why didn't he tell us? We saw him so many times, we worked with him, but he never said. Michael knew." He pressed his fist to his temple. "I keep thinking of things he said to Sam, things Sam said to us, how the clues were there, but I never even…" He leaped to his feet, and his face flushed with hot color as he shouted, "Why didn't we know?"

Nick touched his brother's shoulder and squeezed it gently in an attempt to comfort. "I don't know, Dean, but I don't think that part of it was on us. Whoever took our memories was powerful enough to wipe every trace of him. We didn't forget Sam; he was stolen from us."

Dean ducked his head, his hand coming up to scratch at the day-old beard on his cheek. "He was stolen, and that was awful, but he was alive. I killed him, Nicky. How am I ever going to look at myself in the mirror again, knowing what I did? How are you and Mom supposed to look at me when I murdered him?"

There was a soft gasp behind them. "No, Dean…"

They both turned as Mary rushed into the room, followed at a more sedate pace by Chuck. Nick's heart leaped at the sight of him, someone that could help.

Mary held Dean's cheeks in her hands and lifted his face so he was forced to look her in the eye. "You didn't murder him. Whoever did this to us, took him from our memories, is to blame." She looked back over her shoulder to Chuck. "And he's going to be okay."

Dean looked past her for the first time and saw Chuck. His face flushed, and a gleam came into his eyes that made him look a little manic, "Chuck! You have to help us."

Nick lifted a hand as he spoke, imploring with him. "Please, Chuck, please bring him back."

"He will," Mary assured them both, her hands moving from Dean's face to Nick's and stroking his cheek. "He's going to save Sam."

"If it's the right thing to do," Chuck amended. "It's not my decision to make."

Dean frowned. "Then whose is it?"

"Sam's," Chuck said simply, then raised his voice and said, "Castiel, you should be a part of this."

Nick's eyes drifted back to his brother's body, his heart racing with the hope that the motionless chest might move again, that Sam might live, and he had to drag his eyes from him as Castiel came in.

Castiel looked from face to face, settling on Sam's with a pained look, and then said, "Are you going to save him?" to Chuck.

"I am if it's what Sam wants," Chuck said. "I know you're all eager for me to do it, but you need to understand what happened first. Sam already knows as he was there for it, but if he does choose to come back…"

"Why wouldn't he?" Mary demanded.

Chuck went on as if she'd not spoken, "…he won't want to hear it told again, especially as he's not going to believe it." His eyes settled on Sam for a moment with a strange gleam. "To understand what will happen now, you will need to understand what happened before. It's a long story. You should sit."

As if she'd been waiting for an excuse to do it, Mary went to the bed and sat on the side by Sam's head, her hand stroking the hair back from his face. Dean took Sam's other side, touching his shoulder with fingers that trembled, and Nick was left the sole hard wooden chair in the room. He pulled it closer to the bed and sat down, leaving Chuck and Castiel standing.

"You forgot Sam because of a spell that Lucifer had performed for him by a powerful occultist," Chuck explained. "Lucifer had been laying his plans for some time, wanting revenge on me for what I did, abandoning him again, but he had a failsafe in place. He knew there was a chance I would retaliate when he attacked me, as I did, so he prepared a fitting fate for Sam, too. You see, Sam was never a willing vessel for Lucifer."

"You said he did it for Nick," Mary said. "He said yes for him."

Nick's heart lurched. "For me?"

"Yes," Chuck said. "You remember the situation you were in when Sam said yes, Nick, what you were doing and how you were struggling? Lucifer had already made his first visit to you as your father, and you'd refused him, threatening to take your own life to escape him."

"You did what?" Dean roared.

Nick held up a hand. "I remember, yeah, I was screwed up. But how did that end with Sam saying yes?"

"Sam wasn't fated to be either Michael or Lucifer's true vessel, he was universal for them both, having Campbell and Winchester blood. Lucifer came to him and told him that you were his vessel, Nick. He didn't give Sam the same treatment he gave you, coming as someone you loved; he came as himself and made Sam an offer."

Nick's mind reeled as he imagined what Sam had gone through. He wondered if Lucifer had shown Sam his true face the way he had Nick in the Cage when he wasn't getting enough of a reaction with torture alone. Had Sam seen that horror?

"He said Sam could take your place, and you could be free," Chuck went on. "He swore not to hurt you or Dean. Sam wanted to protect you both from Lucifer and you from yourself, Nick." His face fell into lines of sadness. "He didn't believe you could resist Lucifer for long; he was sure that you'd say yes. He thought he would be strong enough to overpower Lucifer the way Bobby did the demon that possessed him. To save you doing it, to save the world, Sam gave Lucifer consent."

Nick felt all the air in his lungs rush out of him. He'd been so angry with Sam for giving Lucifer a vessel, calling him weak and stupid. He'd blamed Sam for the harm that came of it equally with himself. But Sam had been trying to save him.

"Sam wasn't strong enough to overpower Lucifer," Chuck said. "But he was strong enough to fight. Lucifer was particularly cruel during that year as a way to punish Sam for his continued interference and the inner battle he was forced to wage because of it."

"Is that why he still wanted Nicky?" Dean asked.

Chuck nodded and shot Nick an apologetic look, "Yes. Lucifer believed, like Sam, that you would be weaker, easier to make amenable to his wishes. Obviously, he was wrong. Because of your strength, your love for Dean, you were able to overpower Lucifer and take him to the Cage, Nick." He smiled slightly. "You saved the world."

"But not my brother," Nick said quietly.

"No," Chuck agreed. "Sam didn't stand a chance. Before exiting him, Lucifer tore him apart inside, so he was as good as dead the moment he was left behind."

Dean flinched. "I remember. Nicky was gone, and Sammy was…" He shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. "I didn't even get to give him a funeral."

"There were more important things at the time," Chuck reminded him. "And ultimately, it gave Sam more life than he would have had otherwise. Thanks to Crowley and his magic, Sam had more time."

"As Lucifer's vessel," Dean spat.

"Not wholly," Chuck said. "Sam was the one that spent these past few months as an archangel."

"Why, though?" Mary asked. "When you took Lucifer away, or whatever you did, why did you make Sam an archangel?"

Chuck sighed. "I know it perhaps seems a cruel choice when I could have facilitated his admission to Heaven instead, but I needed someone to stop Michael. Sam was strong enough to do it, and I believed he would have you all to help him. I didn't know about Lucifer's spell until it was too late. When Lucifer was dragged out by me, and Sam suffused with grace, Lucifer's occultist cast the spell. I had to choose between controlling Lucifer or undoing the spell, and I focused on dealing with the one that could do the most harm." He looked down sadly at Sam. "I always intended to come back to it when Lucifer was controlled, but before I could, Sam was dead."

"So, Lucifer had a spell cast that wiped Sam from our memories," Mary said.

"Yes," Chuck said. "When he didn't go back to the occultist he'd recruited, the spell was cast."

"But it's broken now," Nick stated. "We remember, so we can have Sam back?"

Chuck inclined his head. "If…"

"If it's what he wants!" Dean snapped. "Yeah, we get that, but why wouldn't he want it? He can have us back now, too."

Chuck sighed heavily. "Sam's life was a fight from the moment he said yes to Lucifer. He battled him minute by minute, hour by hour, and then, when Crowley found him and manipulated his return to life, Sam had to fight then, too. He wasn't dead and alone all that time. He was alive within weeks of his death at Lucifer's hands, and all that time, he was kept on standby. Crowley wanted to study him at first, find out what made a vessel tick, and then he just enjoyed having him there. Sam was a remnant of Lucifer, the archangel he'd been scared of, that he could vent his frustrations on. Sam suffered in Hell for all that time."

"He's been to hell, too," Mary whispered, the devastation evident on her face. "My poor boys…" She looked from Dean to Nick and then back to Sam. "All my children have been to hell."

"Sam can handle it," Dean said firmly. "I know he'll have all those memories, that trauma, but he's strong. He can take it."

"I don't think you understand," Chuck began.

"No, I understand my brother!" Dean growled, his hand fisted on Sam's shoulder. "Nick survived the Cage, and Sam can survive Crowley and Lucifer."

"I almost didn't survive, Dean," Nick reminded him in a whisper.

His experience of the Cage had been taken from him by Castiel, and that had saved his life, but it had left scars. They seemed more real than ever after the weeks he'd spent thinking Lucifer was playing some trick on them. Actually seeing Lucifer's vessel running around—Sam—and the face that haunted him—Sam's face—had felt impossible. It had driven him to try to kill Sam. Nick knew now that he'd been deceiving himself all along. He'd convinced himself Sam was a threat but it had just been his justification for taking the life of Lucifer's vessel, masking his true, selfish motive: to spare himself pain.

"Sam will survive," Dean said defiantly. "Look, Chuck, I get what you're saying, but I know Sam; he can handle this. We're all going to be here with him to help him get through it. This is the flip-side. He's been through Hell, he's been to Hell, but now he'll have us."

"What's the other option?" Nick asked. "If Sam died as an archangel, does he go to The Empty, or can you give him Heaven?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Nick! You can't seriously be thinking of letting him go?"

"Technically, he's not got either option yet," Chuck said. "As Sam had both a soul and grace when he died, I was able to tether him to the world. He's still within reach."

"Right," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then go get him. Get his 'permission' or whatever you need. He's going to give it if he knows we're waiting."

"Dean," Nick said softly. "We need to think about this."

"No!" Dean shouted. "We don't. We have two choices: get Sam back or lose him for good. I want him back."

"So do I!" Nick said, his voice rising in return. "But I don't want him to…"

Dean cut across him. "No! We're doing this. Go get him, Chuck."

When Nick opened his mouth to try to make Dean consider what they were going to be asking Sam to live with, Dean went on in a rush of pained words.

"I can't be the reason he's dead, Nicky, I just can't. We have to get him back. He needs to come back."

Nick stared into his brother's desperate eyes and knew he was defeated. He couldn't argue anymore. It wasn't Dean's fault Sam was dead, it was Nick's, but Dean wasn't going to believe that. Dean couldn't spend the rest of his life thinking he'd killed his little brother. It would destroy him.

He nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I'm with you."

"Mary?" Chuck asked.

Mary touched Sam's cold cheek. "I want him back, and I want you to do and say whatever it takes to make that happen. The Sam I had was barely two years old. He loved his blankie and hated green beans. His response to everything I asked him to do was 'why.' He was still practically a baby. I need to know him as a man."

"Okay," Chuck said. "But it won't be me that's going to persuade him. It needs to be one of you. Sam doesn't trust me."

"He doesn't know you," Dean pointed out.

"He knows enough," Chuck said. "Lucifer told and showed him almost everything he missed when it came to me, and it was all colored by Lucifer's own feelings of resentment. When I explained to Sam what had happened, that I'd taken Lucifer away and that he was an archangel, he was angry. When I discovered the spell and spoke to him, he thought I was the one that had done it. He believes I'm the reason you all forgot him. He's not going to listen to me. I have to take one of you to him."

"Take, Dean," Nick said without hesitation. "If Sam's going to listen to one of us, it'll be him."

Nick and Sam's relationship was never as close as Sam and Dean's. He loved his brother, and he was sure Sam loved him, too, but they'd never really connected properly. Perhaps because they were too close in age. Perhaps because Sam was so consumed with the hunt. Whatever it had been, Nick had never had a chance to form the bond with him he'd wished for.

"Yes," Mary agreed. "You're the right person, Dean."

Dean got to his feet. "What do I have to do?"

"Sit down again," Chuck advised. "Take a deep breath. When you see him, you need to be careful. Try not to overwhelm him. I know you're eager, but Sam is vulnerable. The fact I will be with you won't help."

Dean sat on the bed again, edging closer to Sam, and then drew in a deep breath. Chuck placed a hand on Dean's temple, and all the animation drained out of Dean's face. His features became smooth as if he was resting peacefully.

Nick looked from his eldest brother to Sam, both of them unaware of him needing them and waiting, hoping and praying that Dean would find the right words to bring their brother back.

So… Now you know. Nick remembers his brother. The lie is still going strong. What do you think? Is this a story you want to read?

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx