Missing

by sonoralie

Challenge response. What would make Dean stop hunting? When he stops being himself.

Missing

by podpod

Rated T for language

Summary: What would make Dean stop hunting? When he stops being himself.

AN: This story was written in response to the challenge "What would make Dean stop hunting?" on the Supernatural Fanfiction Challenges forum. While this isn't the very first thing I've ever written, it's my first SN fic and the first time I've written in a long while so I'm rusty! This is almost completely from Sam's POV and there's a lot of introspection with little action. Are you still with me? If so, thanks for reading. :)

It was just a door.

It was a simple plane of wood painted a clean, fresh white and cut to fit snugly in its frame. Despite the fact that the door stood inside a large, old farmhouse, there was no sign of decay, no sign of sagging or warping. With one hand on the old-fashioned, cut crystal doorknob, Sam leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the cheerful door. He didn't have to open the door. He could just turn around and quietly walk away. There was no need for him to torture himself every week. Dean wouldn't care. He probably wouldn't even realize anything was different.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. God, you are such a coward, he berated himself. I can't believe you'd even consider it.

Taking a deep breath, he unconsciously drew himself straight up to his full height. He tugged on the sports coat he was wearing, making sure that it lay flat against his collared shirt. He was running a hand over his newly cut hair, a little self-conscious by how short it was when he caught himself. Just open the damn door and go in already.

Slowly, Sam turned pushed the door open. It creaked a little on its hinges, but other than that it swung with a practiced ease. The younger Winchester peeked around the edge of the door.

"Dean?"

The room behind the door was a big comfortable one. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the large bay windows, suffusing the room with a mellow, golden light. The windows were slightly open to let in fresh air, and Sam could see the diaphanous white curtains fluttering slightly in the warm breeze flowing in. An unused fireplace lined the wall to Sam's right, and a small yet plush looking bed draped in worn, flowered bedding stood off to the left. The hardwood floors were covered in blue woven rugs and there were several watercolors of generic landscapes hanging on the walls. The room just breathed peace and comfort. It was probably one of the most pleasant places either he or Dean had ever stayed at for any length of time while they were hunting. Sam was pretty sure Dean would have hated it.

Sam caught sight of his brother sitting in an oversized armchair by the window, partially hidden by the curtains. Dean's back was to him and he gave no indication that he had heard Sam or sensed him opening the door. Sam swallowed hard, fighting to loosen the familiar tightness in his chest.

Maybe he didn't hear me. There's still time to leave. I can just shut the door again, and pretend I forgot to come. I bet he wouldn't even know the difference.

Sam hesitated in the doorway, unsure of whether he was going to continue inside or whether he was going to turn tail and run away. The internal tug-of-war froze Sam's feet so he just stood there, staring at the back of his brother's head.

Run away, Sammy. It's what you do best.

The ghost of Dean's words echoed in his brain, accusing him of something Sam now feared might be true. He had been stung by his brother's harsh words at the time they were spoken, thinking that they were completely unfair and out of line. Now, he wasn't so sure. He couldn't think back to the last time he and Dean had truly spoken without sliding down a shame and guilt spiral, but it was a moment he thought about often. Whether or not their argument had caused anything or had been the watershed to what happened afterwards, Sam didn't know. But if it was mere coincidence (something Sam didn't believe in anyway), the only conclusion he could come to was that someone up there hated him very much.

"Hey, Dean?"

"What is it, Sammy?"

Sam paused for a moment. Dean's voice was brusque from exhaustion and Sam knew that this was the very last conversation Dean would want to have right now, but it had to be had at some point. Sam figured that now he had already opened his mouth and had made up his mind, now would be as good a time as any. He hoped he wasn't wrong.

"So...what do you think we'll do after we bag this monster?"

Dean shrugged. "Go get the next one." Dean gave Sam an appraising look. "We've been over this, Sam. Just because the thing that killed Mom and Jess is dead doesn't mean that our job is done."

"But how long are you going to keep doing this? Don't you ever think of taking a break? I mean, don't you ever want to just take a step back?"

"Jesus Christ, Sam. Do we really have to talk about this now?"

Dean scowled as he checked his trusty pistol, shoving the clip back into place a little more forcefully than necessary. Sam kept staring at him, his eyes wide and imploring, but Dean resolutely avoided his gaze. Sam let the silence stretch on until he knew that he had lost his brother's attention.

"Dean."

Sam's exasperated yet somehow infinitely patient voice infiltrated Dean's wandering thoughts.

"What, Sam. What? You wanna have a heart-to-heart right now? Because I don't. So shut it."

There was no bite to his words, just weariness. Dean wasn't trying to be mean to Sam, and Sam knew that. He knew Dean didn't want to talk about this. But if he had his way, Dean would put this discussion off for eternity. Sam, however, wasn't inclined to put it off for so long. So Sam just rolled on as if Dean hadn't just told him to stop talking.

"Dean, I'm not doing this anymore. When this hunt is over, I'm heading back to school." Sam let it out all in one big rush, stuffing his hands into his jeans' pockets. He didn't flinch away from Dean's gaze when his older brother finally lifted his head and met his eye.

"Did I not just say that I didn't want to talk about this?" Dean snapped at his brother.

"Well, fine. I'll talk, you listen. Or don't, whatever. But Dean, I'm telling you now that I'm finished. I'm done with hunting, man."

"You're done? How the hell can you be done? The monsters don't go away just because you want to stop looking for them. This job is never done, Sam. It never will be."

"Yes, it can be finished. All you have to do is decide that you're done."

Dean gave a little laugh of disbelief. "All I have do is decide? Should I decide to turn my back on the people who need help Sam? Should I decide to just give up on what Dad started? Is that what you're telling me? Because that's pretty damn cold, even coming from you."

Sam just shook his head. "Dean, you can't do this forever, you know. Don't you want to at least try something new?"

"No, Sam, I don't. I don't want to try something new. And I sure as hell haven't heard you complaining about hunting lately. So what's all this crap about?"

"Dean, I've told you I'm not going to keep living this life. I stayed with you because - well, after what happened - I just...didn't want to leave you alone after Dad died. This isn't healthy, Dean. We can't keep moving at this pace."

"Sam-"

"And maybe this will never be finished for you, Dean. But it is for me. It has to be. I don't want to do this for the rest of my life. You know that."

"So that's it, huh?" Dean's voice rang out angry and loud. "This the end of the line for you, Sam? You got what you came for, so now you can go back to your happy life, and screw everyone else? Is that it?"

"Dean, come on. You know that's not how it is. I just - I can't keep doing this. I don't need to do this. It's been almost four months, Dean. I need to take a step back from Dad's life. I need to get away from all this." Sam tried to keep his voice even, but he could feel it rising in volume against his will. "Dean - "

His brother cut him off. "Is it really that easy for you? Now that you've got what you came for, now that you got revenge for your precious girlfriend, you can just leave this behind? You think you can just 'take a step back' from what Dad's life? He died for us, you selfish bastard!"

"Dean, I know!" The hands came out of the pockets and began to gesture wildly. "You think I don't know that? But I need to move on! We both do. I can't move on if I'm always hunting, always thinking about - " Always thinking about how it could be one of us next. Sam cut himself off abruptly. "I just need to move on," he repeated. "We both need to try."

Dean snorted. "Move on? What the fuck do you know about moving on? You sure as hell didn't seem eager to move on after Jess died. If I remember correctly, there wasn't any room in that overstuffed head of yours for anything other than Jess! It was always, 'I need to get revenge for Jess. I'm doing this for Jess. Jess, Jess, Jess!" Dean was full out shouting now and the words were tumbling out without his permission. It was rare when Dean truly lost control of his temper, even more rare when his anger was directed at Sam. He could see the hurt and disbelief written all over his little brother's face but he couldn't stop. "Is your girlfriend more important than Dad? Or what, is Dad just more forgettable? Does what he did mean so little that you want to just forget?"

"That's not fucking fair!" Sam was now shouting as well. "That's not true and you know it! How can you say something like that? Jesus Christ!" Sam spun away from Dean, unable to look at him anymore. Part of Sam knew that Dean's outburst stemmed from grief, but it didn't help to ease the sting of Dean's words. He took deep breaths, fighting to regain control over his face, which he knew must be crumpled like a car wreck.

Dean opened his mouth but he didn't reply. Instead, he frowned and turned away from his brother's hunched shoulders, holding onto the image of his brother's grief-stricken face in his mind. Silence reigned until Dean spoke again, his voice soft and pained.

"I promised Dad I'd always look out for you, Sam. Don't make me break that promise. Not yet."

Sam sighed. Damn it. He had never truly understood the tight yet almost military relationship between his brother and their father. He probably never would, which was strange since Sam knew that he was at the center at a lot of the issues between Dean and their Dad. He was now easier for him to sympathize with what he once saw as Dean's blind obedience to their father, but Sam refused to allow that obedience extend beyond the grave.

"Dean, I'm sorry. But after this is done, I'm leaving. I can't do this anymore and I want to move on. I'm going back to school. You know I'm always here for you if you need me, Dean. But you have to let me go."

The older Winchester smiled bitterly. "You'll always be here for me, huh? What, in spirit?" Dean shook his head. "You know what? Fine," he ground out from between clenched teeth. "Fine, whatever. Move on. Run away. It's what you do best, isn't it?" With that parting shot, Dean picked up his gun, tucked it into his waistband and then stalked out of the motel room into the warm, humid night, leaving Sam alone.

Sam remembered that they had finished that particular hunt very late that night, but he couldn't remember exactly what it was that they had been after. All he knew was that when he had woken up the next morning, Dean had been gone.

At first, he had thought his brother had just gone on without him, to avoid being the one left behind. He had been self-righteously pissed at first, upset that Dean would be so immature, that he would leave without even saying goodbye. Then he had realized that all of Dean's stuff was still in their motel room. Dean's jeans were still draped over the back of the chair, his cell phone was sitting on the night stand and his duffel bag was still sitting forlornly half open on the shabby carpet. Sam had raced to the bathroom, only to find it dark and empty. He jumped to the window and pulled the heavy drapes aside - the Impala was still parked in the motel lot.

The sudden pounding in Sam's chest had made it difficult to think straight. Maybe he went out to get breakfast. Maybe he went to get some soda. Maybe he just went for a walk. Without his pants on?

Sam knew, though. He had known in his heart that there was something very, very wrong. This wasn't Dean blowing off steam, or playing some sort of cruel prank. This was Dean being forcibly removed from Sam's life without Sam's permission.

He had called the police, filed a missing persons report under an assumed name he knew Dean used often. He had called all his father's old contacts to see if they would know anything about what had happened. Not surprisingly, none of them had a clue. Sam had gone on the hunt for his brother for a week, two weeks, a month, six months, but there were no leads. It was like Dean had been lifted right off the face of the Earth.

Sam had reached an agonizing crossroads. The police had told him that chances of his brother being found alive grew slimmer everyday and Sam had wanted to scream at them. You don't know my brother. You don't know Dean. He can survive anything. I know it! Although he had clung desperately to the hope that his brother was still alive, Sam could still feel that belief slipping through his fingers slowly, day by day. So he did the most painful thing he had ever done.

He had given up.

Sam had told Dean he didn't want to live the rest of his life on the hunt. And ultimately it was still true, even if the prey was his own brother. Sam had no idea whether Dean's disappearance had to do with anything supernatural, but his resources had been exhausted. He was exhausted. Searching for Dean hadn't been like hunting for the demon that had taken his mom and Jess. They'd had clues, a trail to follow. More importantly, Sam had Dean almost constantly by his side, supporting him in his own special, contrary Dean way. He'd also had the knowledge that his dad was hunting the thing with the tenacity of a rabid pitbull. He'd had the unwavering faith that the hunt would come to an end, and that there would be closure. This was different. This was uncertainty, it was doubt, it was darkness. Sam had no idea where to start, where to go, where to look and whether or not there would ever be an end. He had all of a sudden realized what it was to be truly alone, and he hated it. Everything he had been through in past year or so had just accumulated to the point where Sam just didn't have the strength to keep looking anymore.

So he had turned away from the hunt, and he had left the continuing search for his brother to the 'professionals'. He had gone back to Stanford, graduated, went to law school, fallen in love and had gotten married. Sam had never allowed himself to completely give up on Dean though, despite the advice from numerous people to put it all behind him. God, how could he? The fight that they'd had plagued him still. If only I hadn't pushed him. If only I had been more understanding. If only I had just kept my mouth shut. Sam knew none of those things would have made a difference, but he had kept picking at it, refusing to allow the wound to heal. All I want to do is apologize. I just want to tell him that I'm sorry, that I shouldn't have pushed him, that my timing probably sucked. I just want my brother back.

Then, after five years of being missing, Dean had been found.

A stranger had found him lying in a ditch along a back road, not far from where Sam lived. The police had said that it looked like he had crawled out of the woods, but when they tried to trace the trail afterwards, they had repeatedly come to a dead end. Sam didn't care - all that mattered was that Dean was no longer missing. He could remember his disbelief when he had received the phone call in the middle of the afternoon, informing him coolly that a 'Mr. Burkowitz' had been found and that he was at County General. He had then gotten pissed, convinced that someone was playing a cruel joke on him. It couldn't possibly be true, not after all this time. People did not just drop out of the sky, and Sam was pretty sure that was the only possible place Dean could have come from. But the officer at the other end of the line had gone on to describe Dean and Sam had known that it was true. Dean was still alive, and he had reappeared out of thin air. Impossible? Probably, but Sam had been in no mood to contemplate. In his utter joy and excitement Sam had fled his office without finishing his meetings with his clients, his tie flying haphazardly behind him. He had driven like a madman to the hospital, irrationally upset that after five years of not being able to see his brother, he would have to wait yet another twenty minutes to see Dean again.

When he had reached the hospital, he had identified himself as a relative and was forced to speak to the doctor before he could see his brother. Not that it had mattered in the slightest - Sam had been so distracted that very few of the words coming out of the doctor's mouth had actually been retained in his stunned brain. Words like, 'malnutrition', 'dehydrated', 'blunt trauma' and 'internal injuries'. The last had caught his attention and he had listened as the doctor finished off the laundry list by explaining to Sam that Dean's leg had been shattered and improperly set sometime in the past. It was likely that he would walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

"We're keeping him sedated for now, to let his body rest and heal. Your brother has seen quite a bit of abuse, Mr. Burkowitz, but barring any complications, he should make a full recovery."

Sam had stammered his thanks, appalled by the flood of information that had been let loose upon him. Jesus Christ, Dean, what the hell happened to you?

The doctor had pointed him in the direction of Dean's room and Sam had slowly walked, measuring his pace deliberately. The heady rush he had felt at the prospect of seeing Dean again had been replaced by dread. Sam suddenly feared that he wouldn't recognize his own brother. How would five missing years change a person? Pausing in the doorway, he took in a deep breath. Sam felt terrible for thinking it, but he was glad Dean was sedated. It would make things easier - not for Dean, but for him.

Just the sight of his brother laying unconscious on the sterile white bed was enough to rustle up some very unpleasant memories which Sam had immediately quashed. Even though he had gotten an idea of what to expect from the doctor, he had still been shocked to see the physical change in his brother. Dean had been pale and noticeably thinner than Sam remembered him. Laying motionless amongst the multitude of wires and tubes hooked up to his body, Dean had looked frail. Fragile. Vulnerable. They were words that Sam had never associated with his larger-than-life older brother, and the fact that they came to mind so easily now made him feel sick. He had crept in as quietly as possible and had pulled up a chair to his brother's bedside. Lowering himself gingerly, he had just sat there and stared. God, Dean, I'm so sorry. I said I'd be there for you and I wasn't. I won't let you down this time. I swear.

There had been nothing to do but to wait.

Snapping out of his reverie, Sam mentally shook himself. You promised you'd always be there for him. You don't get to back out just because things are hard now. And Sam knew he didn't want to back out.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. "Hey, Dean!" He forced a bright note into his voice. "How's it going?"

There was still no response from his brother. Walking up to the window, Sam knelt by the armchair. The familiar profile was steady and the warm green eyes gazed out the window and into the far distance. Sam got the feeling that Dean was staring at something that no one else would ever see. Gently, he placed a hand on the other's arm.

"Dean?"

The older Winchester jumped but made no move to remove Sam's hand from his arm. Instead, he turned to look at Sam's upturned face. He gave Sam a small grin.

"Hey."

Sam's heart jumped at the sight of that smile. Maybe today - maybe today would be a good day. Maybe Dean was finally starting to get better after skidding downhill so rapidly for so long.

"Hey, Dean. How's it going?"

Dean shrugged. "Can't complain, I guess. Food's pretty good."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, I hear Debbie's an awesome cook."

"Debbie?"

The smile slid right off of Sam's face. "Debbie. You know Debbie, Dean. She runs this place."

"Oh." Dean pursed his lips, contemplating Sam's words for a moment. "Is she hot?"

Sam chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it. Goddamn it. "I don't really think she's your type, Dean." Debbie was an energetic woman in her fifties, pleasantly round with a kind heart and firm hand. Sam trusted Debbie because he knew she wouldn't let Dean out of her sight. Sam also trusted Debbie because she had an equally kind-hearted husband who could keep Dean under control if needed.

Dean snorted softly. "That sucks."

"Yeah, it really does," Sam murmured. There was a lull in the conversation as Dean's attention wandered back out the window. Sam gazed out the window with his brother, absentmindedly admiring the rolling green expanse that made up the farmhouse grounds. This was the way it was most of the time - Dean would retreat into himself and his mind would go places where Sam couldn't follow.

"Dean?"

There was no response. "Hey," he tried again. "Hey, you with me?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

Sam wasn't so sure about that. He swallowed hard. "What do you remember?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, do you...do you remember your name?" Sam was sad that he felt completely justified in asking that question.

"You've been calling me 'Dean' since you've walked in here."

"Yeah."

"Are you lying to me?" Although the words were spoken quietly, there was a tightness in Dean's voice that belied his relaxed pose.

"God no, Dean," Sam denied vehemently. "I'd never do that. Not to you."

There was a moment of silence as Dean considered his words. "Then I guess you're talking to a guy named Dean."

Sam knew that was pretty much the best he was going to get. "Okay then. Do you remember who I am?"

Dean could only meet Sam's eyes for a moment before he glanced away. Sam couldn't read the expression on his brother's face or decipher the quick flash he saw in the green depths of his eyes.

"I should remember, shouldn't I?" Dean asked quietly. "I have the feeling this isn't the first time we've had this conversation." Sam could hear the tinge of resignation in Dean's words.

"No, it's not," Sam murmured inaudibly. "It's okay, though," he said brightly for Dean's benefit. "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. Your brother."

"Oh." Dean squinted. "You're my brother."

"Yeah."

"Younger?"

"That's right."

Dean gave Sam a mocking smirk. "I guess I was the lucky one, huh?"

He knew what his brother meant, but he couldn't help but wonder. Who's the lucky one - the one who can't remember his own name or the one who has to sit by and watch the other person slip away? "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Sam shifted onto the floor into a more comfortable sitting position. He drew his legs up and rested his head on his knees for a moment. This was unfair. The unfairness of it all was so poignant that it hurt Sam physically. This person was Dean Winchester. Sam knew it was. Now if only Dean himself would come to the same conclusion, things would be okay. Sam wished he had a way to help his brother find his way back to himself, but he didn't.

"Why can't I remember?" There was no anger in the question, just idle curiosity, and it was spoken so quietly that Sam knew it wasn't directed at him. He sighed. It was almost like a routine, but there was absolutely no comfort to be found in it.

"I don't know, Dean. I wish I did."

It hadn't been apparent that there was a problem until a few days after the doctors had reduced the sedatives they had been administering. Dean had woken up disoriented, and the doctors had assured him that this was not unexpected. Sam had been so damn relieved to have his brother back that he didn't push, didn't question. He just soothed his brother when he jerked awake from nightmares, patiently answered the same questions he asked over and over again and waited for his brother to get better.

When he had taken Dean home with him a week later, Sam started to get worried. Although Dean was slowly recovering physically, there was no indication that his memory was also on that same road. Despite his misgivings, Sam had decided to wait and see. Dean was strong, one of the strongest people he knew. Sam had no idea what his brother had been through, but the idea that he might have gone through something so awful that it had broken his mind was something Sam hadn't even wanted to consider. It was just easier, less frightening to believe that Dean would get better.

In the beginning, Bethany had been supportive of his decision to bring Dean home with him. His wife understood the history between him and Dean - not everything, but most of it - and had known how much Sam needed to set things straight with his brother. Besides, Dean was officially family and Bethany was never the type to turn family away. So Sam had promised that Dean would only be with them for a little while, until he got his bearings back, until he was strong enough to be on his own, and his wife had agreed. He had set Dean up in their guest room, and for the first few days, Dean really did nothing but sleep. He was still thinner than Sam had ever seen him, and his normally clear eyes were still cloudy and confused. When he got out of bed, he walked with a noticeable limp, as the doctor promised he would. Sam had wondered how Dean would react once he started to come around - being a successful hunter, especially against their type of prey, depended on speed and stealth. Sam had thought that perhaps it would be a chance to convince Dean to settle down, to give up hunting for good. He had never really understood what drove Dean to follow in their father's footsteps with such fervor, and never understood why his brother was so resistant towards leading a normal life. After five years of wondering where his brother was, not knowing whether or not he was dead or alive, Sam was determined not to let Dean wander back into his dangerous life so easily, if it ever came to that. Dean had watched over him and protected him when they were growing up. Now it was Sam's turn to play guardian to his brother, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Dean stayed safe.

For the first few weeks, it honestly seemed like Dean was getting better. He had begun to put weight back on, he had slept less and interacted with Sam more. He had given Bethany his patented 'hey there' grin several times but luckily left it at that. The essence of the person that was Dean all seemed to be coming back; the snarky sarcasm was in place, along with the jokes, the innuendoes, and the irreverent, obnoxious humor. But despite himself, Sam sensed that something was missing. There would be a flash of confusion in the eyes, or a blankness in the stare, or a pause in conversation that would send a shock of dread through Sam. He tried to shake it off though. Just help him get better.

Then Dean had started to get restless. This hadn't really surprised Sam - the older Winchester had never been the type to sit still unless on a hunt. He had started to pace constantly and would disappear to go on long walks. The first time, he had left without saying a word to anyone and Sam had been in a panic, afraid that Dean had disappeared again. He had spent hours searching for his missing brother, driving frantically around their town. He had finally found Dean sitting on a park bench eight miles from their house.

"Dean! Jesus Christ, man, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing out here?" Sam had plopped down on the bench next to his brother, hands firmly tucked into his coat pockets.

Dean looked up, startled. He gave Sam a look that clearly said, "Who the hell are you?"

Sam frowned. "Dean, it's me. Sam." Blank stare. "Your brother? Come on, don't do this."

"Don't do what?"

"You know me, right? You remember who I am?"

Dean gave Sam a blank look that he couldn't quite interpret, but it had set his heart to pounding like the proverbial drum. The moment stretched on for what seemed like eons, and just when Sam thought the tension would kill him, a light went off. "Yeah sure, Sammy. I remember." he said slowly. Then he grinned. "Who could forget a whiny little girl like you?"

Sam suppressed a sigh of relief but couldn't quite refrain from rolling his eyes. "What are you doing out here, Dean? You had us worried."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted...something," he replied vaguely. "I guess I wanted to get some air, stretch my legs."

"Well, next time, let someone know. God, I thought that..." Sam trailed off. "Just tell someone next time."

"Whatever, Mom."

"Dean, come on. I'm serious. As a favor to me, okay? I was worried."

"Alright, alright. Christ, all I wanted was to take a freaking walk."

They had sat in silence for a while before Sam suggested they head back. After that day Sam had started bringing his brother to see doctors. Specialists. Something was going on in that head of Dean's and it wasn't something that Sam could ignore any longer. So he had dragged his brother around from appointment to appointment, trying to figure out what was going on. The CT scans and MRIs were clear. Tests had come back normal. The doctors were at a loss, but they had taken a stab at trying to guess what was wrong with Dean anyway. Amnesia from unknown psychological trauma, they had said. Dissociative fugues. Early-onset Alzheimers. Sam had heard just about every explanation available to the medical world. In desperation, Sam had dived back into the supernatural world as a last resort. He didn't have his father's journal and didn't have some of the texts he knew Dean carried around with him. He did have his computer, however, as well as some of his father's old contacts. But it was all for nothing - there were no answers to be found.

One evening, Dean had wandered off again before either Sam or Bethany had come home from work and Sam had stormed out of his house in search of his brother, leaving his very irritated wife behind. It had been four months since Dean had come to stay with them and his lack of progress was becoming a point of contention in his marriage. That, and the fact that Sam spent every waking moment outside of work looking after his brother.

"Sam, come on. How long do you think you can keep this up?"

"I'll keep it up for as long as I have to! He's my goddamn brother. I can't believe you're bringing this up now, Beth."

"As long as you have to? Exactly how long do you think that's going to be? It's been four months and he's not getting any better, he's getting worse! You can't hold his hand forever, Sam."

Sam growled. "How would you know how he's doing? You barely even talk to him! Besides, you don't know him like I do. He'll get better, he just needs time."

"Sam, open your eyes. It's not time he needs."

"So what do want me to do?" he seethed. "You want me to just throw him out there? Just say, 'sorry, you've worn out your welcome' and leave him on his own? He can't even remember who he is half the time, and you want me to just leave him on his own? If that was me, Dean would never kick me out."

"Look, I'm not saying you should just toss him out. We can find him a place to stay, like with Debbie. She'll take good care of him-"

"Are you kidding me?" Sam glared at his wife as he distractedly searched for his keys and cell phone. "Debbie runs a house for psychos! Dean's not fucking crazy!"

"God, I know! I'm not saying he is, I'm just saying that it might be a good place for him to stay until he's himself again. And she does not run a house for psychos, so don't be so damn dramatic! Debbie's a good person, Sam. She'll treat him well."

"I don't care. No, the answer is no. I'm not leaving him alone. He's going to get better."

"Do you think Dean would want this?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Sam purposely pretended to misunderstand Beth's question. "Would Dean want to walk around without any of his memories? No, I really don't think he would. Look, Beth, I don't have time for this. I need to go look for Dean."

"No, you will listen to me. That's not what I meant and you know it. Someone will call if they see him and he's not going to get any further just because you left five minutes later. Do you honestly think Dean would want this? Do you think he'd want to be a burden on you?"

"A burden? Are you serious? He's my brother!"

"I know. But do you think your brother would want you to spend every waking moment of your life chasing after him? Do you think he'd want to be the reason you fight with your wife every day?"

Sam threw his hands up. "I have no idea what you're talking about." Dean would never want to considered a burden. He didn't know the meaning of the word.

Bethany placed her hands on her hips. "Fine, then. Pretend like you don't see what's going on. But this can't continue, Sam. You've got to make a decision because I'm-" She stopped suddenly.

"What? You're what?" Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"I'm pregnant."

"What?"

"I'm pregnant, Sam. So make your decision. Your family, or Dean."

Dean is my family. But Sam didn't say anything. He just stared wordlessly at his wife before walking out the door.

He had gotten a call from one of his neighbors informing him that they had seen Dean wandering around. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. Winchester, but I think I saw your brother heading off towards the park again."

"No, it's okay. Thanks for letting me know."

"Sure, no problem. And...I'm not really sure, because I couldn't see very well, but - I think he might be carrying something. He's not dangerous, is he?"

"Dangerous? No, absolutely not." Sam had denied it, but he almost knew what was going to come next. "He's carrying something?"

"You, um, don't happen to own any guns, do you?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. "No, I don't," he lied.

"Oh, no. Of course not. I'm sorry, my eyesight just isn't what it used to be."

"No problem. Thanks again."

Goddamn it! He had known keeping that gun around was a bad idea. Bethany had been against it, but old habits died hard, even for him. And now, it had come back to bite him in the ass. How had Dean gotten into that drawer? He carried the only key around with him. For that matter, how had he even known that gun was in there to begin with? Sam swore again. How the hell was he going to explain this to Beth?

Sam had swerved into the entrance of the park, and he could just make out a lone figure standing by the edge of the woods in the twilight. He had jumped out of his car and had run to his brother, wanting to take him home before anyone else saw him.

"Dean!" Sam had dashed across the open field of manicured grass, his long legs flying. Why did his brother keep wandering away like this? He had told Dean repeatedly not to leave unless there was someone with him. Sam knew he was probably being overprotective, but he couldn't help it. How could he, when he knew the what lay waiting in the dark? Dean had been right - just because Sam tried to forget about all the hideous things they hunted didn't mean they stopped existing. They were out there, and the fact that one of them could get his claws in Dean while he was vulnerable was unacceptable. Sam wasn't willing to actively fight, but he sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy for anything freaky to take down a Winchester when he wasn't looking.

"Dean! What are you-" He came to a screeching halt as his brother whirled around, the gun in his hands expertly trained at his head. "What the fuck?"

"Who are you?" Dean's voice was cold, colder than Sam had heard it in a long time.

"It's me, Dean, your brother. It's Sammy. Put the gun down!"

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, Sam."

"I don't have any brothers."

Sam slowly put his hands up in the air to show he meant no harm. "Yes, you do Dean. I'm your brother. I know you might not remember me right now, but I'm telling you the truth."

"I don't remember..." Dean slowly lowered the gun, keeping a wary eye on Sam. "But you're telling the truth."

"I am. I swear."

"I know," Dean muttered. He sounded confused.

Sam shook his head. "What are you doing here, Dean? Why do you keep wandering away from me?" The question was rhetorical and he wasn't expecting Dean to answer it. Hell it wasn't like he'd ever answered it before.

"I don't know... I'm supposed to be doing something. Right? There's something I need to do. I just can't remember..." The gun now hung forgotten at his side and he was staring blankly into the distance, his attention fixed on something Sam couldn't see. "It's dangerous out there."

The younger Winchester had swallowed. He really hadn't wanted the conversation to head this way. "Yeah, it is dangerous out there. That's why I keep asking you to make sure you don't leave the house alone."

"Sorry, man. I forgot."

"I know. It's alright. Why don't you give me the gun, and we'll head back."

Dean handed the weapon over, much to Sam's relief. "Dean?"

"Yeah."

"How did you get to my gun? How did you even know I had it?"

Dean shrugged. "I saw you taking it out the clean the other day. And that weenie little lock you had on it wouldn't keep anyone out of that drawer."

Well, shit. Dean might not have remembered who he or Sam was, but it was clear he hadn't forgotten other traits that had made him such a proficient hunter. Including the use of weapons. Sam thought back to the argument he'd had with his wife.

I'm pregnant, Sam.

He had taken a quick glance at Dean and all of a sudden, a thousand unbidden what-if situations had popped into his head. What if Dean never got better? What if Dean took a turn for the worse? What if Dean lost control one day and turned on his wife? His future child? What if he turned on Sam? Even if Sam got rid of the gun, (which he now fully intended to do), Dean was a hunter. Even if Dean never actively hunted again, he was still an expert at killing things. He could turn anything into a weapon if he wanted to. Sam trusted Dean with his life. But he wasn't so sure he trusted Dean with his family's lives.

So Sam prepared to let his brother down again.

And now here they were. Sam had, with much reluctance, given in to his wife's suggestion that they let Dean live at Debbie's establishment. Debbie was a family friend of Bethany's. She had been a nurse until she decided to retire early and open a small home with her husband for those who couldn't live on their own. There were never more than two or three people living there at one time, and it mostly served as a temporary retirement home for a few elderly patients Debbie had while she worked at the hospital. Sam supposed that it was unfair to call it a psycho house, but he knew that Debbie also took in mentally ill patients, and he knew that was why Beth had suggested it. Sam would be the first to admit that it was a beautiful place, and probably good for Dean, but even now, after almost ten months, he still absolutely hated that Dean was here. To him, this place represented failure.

Well, you got your wish, he told himself bitterly. Dean's safe and sound, and it looks like he'll never go hunting again. Well done, Sam. Well done.

Dean had gone back to staring out the window and had effectively ignored Sam for the last half an hour. Sam wanted to say something, to engage his brother and joke with him like they used toHe wanted Dean to tell him he was a little bitch, and Sam wanted to snap back that Dean was a jerk. Hope was a large part of what drove him to visit Dean once a week, despite the fact that he was invariably disappointed. If he had realized that this would be the price he had to pay to see his brother live a 'normal' life that didn't involve hunting down the freak of the weak, Sam realized that he would have given Dean his blessing twenty times over to continue hunting. If he had known what would have happened after that night, Sam never would have argued with his brother. Guilt, regret and a touch of resignation mixed unhappily in Sam's brain. Even if he couldn't stop what happened, at least his last words to his brother wouldn't have been ones of anger. Sam couldn't help but marvel at the speed with which his family had fallen apart. First his mother, then his father and Dean were lost to him in quick succession. Sam was grateful that Dean was here physically, because it meant that he could see his brother, touch him and know that he was real. But for all that it mattered, Dean may as well have been missing again. Sam sighed and picked himself off the floor.

"Hey Dean?"

The older Winchester grunted in acknowledgment.

"I'm leaving now, okay? Try and stay out of trouble."

No response.

Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah. So, I'll see you next week. I promise."

Maybe next week things would be better.

He doubted it.