Summary: Dean's search for his missing brother, his memory, and the surprising truth about Sammy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dean, Sam, or Supernatural. The plot is mine.
Author's Note: This takes place after "Nightmare," but I'm not exactly sure when. Please review and thank you to everyone who's reading this right now 33
When Dean woke up in the too soft bed, he realized two things: he didn't know where he was, and he didn't know where Sam was. Light was streaming in through the windows of the small bedroom. Even without sitting up, Dean knew this was no motel. No motel held the old-woman style furniture this room held.
Dean only had to reach under his pillow and feel for the long knife to know if he had come here by choice or force. Praying that he would grasp the knife's wooden handle, Dean slipped his hand between the bed and pillow.
He felt nothing.
Dean shot out of bed, than slowed down. He didn't know what he was up against. The wooden door was shut, and Dean figured he could search the room quietly without being disturbed. Dean stumbled over to the full length mirror and examined himself for any bruises or cuts. He was in a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt. Dean didn't see a single mark, but his left leg was throbbing. Throwing the shirt to the ground, he found a few long bloody cuts on his stomach and shoulders. But they were treated, Dean realized, and would heal soon.
He searched for a memory, anything to help him. And then something slivered into his mind . . .
They were working on a simple case. An old ghost was haunting a colonial house. It didn't cause much damage, but it scared the family with its frequent crying and moaning.
"It'll commit suicide in front of us," the mother had whispered to Dean urgently, concerned eyes on her seven year old daughter.
There was nothing the brothers could do that night, the spirit had "killed" itself and wouldn't be back until the following night.
"I need to bother the impala for a little bit," Sam said suddenly. Dean glanced over.
"What for?"
"I need to just pick up some stuff," Sam said quietly before taking the keys. "I'll uh, be back soon." Dean had shrugged it off and began flipping through channels.
But Sam hadn't come back soon. An hour later, Dean had gotten a phone call, and Sam was on the other line . . .
That was it. The memory just stopped there, like the rest was erased. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the lumpy bed.
Dean couldn't find a single weapon, so he opened the door and looked around. No one was upstairs. Quietly he walked downstairs, and felt a tingle cover his body. He had been here before. Someone lived here . . . someone he knew . . .
Missouri.
Dean saw her, seated in the kitchen reading a newspaper. The small table had two seats, each with a plate of pancakes in front of it. Without looking up, Missouri suggested, "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?"
Slowly Dean entered, and sunk into the second chair. He had so many questions; he didn't know where to start.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions, child," Missouri added, her eyes still searching the newspaper.
"Why am I here?"
"You don't remember anything, do you?" she said sadly, looking up for the first time. Dean felt oddly tired. Worn, almost.
"No," Dean confirmed. "I don't."
"You got hurt, so I took you in," Missouri answered, taking a sip of her orange juice. He waited for her to say more, but she kept silent as she looked him over. Reading his thoughts, no doubt.
"Do you know where Sam is?"
"Yes, I do. But you know where he is as well. You just don't remember."
"Then tell me where he is!" Dean insisted.
"I think that you should find out for yourself," Missouri said slowly.
"My brother is missing. Where is he?" Dean demanded.
"Now you listen here, Dean Winchester!" cried Missouri." You're going to have to trust me here! You know where Sam is, you might even know more than I do. You've faced daemons and monsters. Now face yourself and find the answer."
Dean stood with a glare. How could she? Sam was his brother! He turned and left. It was all he could do to avoid leaping at her in a new hatred and anger. Dean thrust open the door and stepped out into the chilly air. Where the hell was his car?
"Don't worry Sammy," Dean whispered. "I'll find you."
A/N: Please review! Thanks for reading.