Title: Memories of Me
Author: Gillian Middleton
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Total word count:
25 600
Warning: Wincest.
Authors notes: Amnesia story - which by its very nature could be construed as containing a character unable to give informed consent to sex. Not non-con, perhaps dubious-con? (Also I totally made up the town this is set in.)
Summary: While investigating a routine curse in a small California town Dean loses his memory. With only his brother to lean on feelings begin to develop that aren't exactly brotherly. How's Sam going to cope with that?

Memories of Me

Part 2 of 4

The doctor perused his clipboard, pen poised. "Is there a family history of epilepsy?"

Sam shook his head for Dean, who still looked groggy and out of it. He perched on the edge of the examination table and Sam hovered, ready to catch his swaying form if he should fall.

"Are you suffering from any known medical conditions? Alcohol withdrawal? Low blood sugar?"

Again Dean's eyes flicked to his brother and Sam answered. "No, nothing like that. This has never happened before."

"Has he taken any blows to the head?"

Sam was lost for words for a long moment. How did he answer that one? He'd lost count of the blows to the head they'd suffered. "Not recently," he said carefully.

"I don't suppose you timed the seizure?" the doctor asked.

Sam shrugged blankly. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly," he said apologetically.

"That's understandable. But could you estimate? Would it have been longer than 5 minutes?"

"Oh no," Sam said with certainty. "I mean it seemed like forever, but it was only a minute or so, I'm sure."

"Well that's good news," the doctor said briskly, making another notation on the page.

"It is?"

"Actually yes. I know a tonic-clonic seizure like this can be frightening, but you did everything right. As to the cause, well, it's hard to say. We can certainly do further tests, but we wouldn't diagnose this as epilepsy, for example, until you've had at least two such seizures."

"I don't want another one," Dean said fervently. "Can't you just give me a pill or something?"

"If it does turn out to be the onset of epilepsy there are certainly some very effective treatments available. But for now I'd suggest you try to rest and recover from the stress of the seizure, and don't drive or operate any heavy machinery for a few days."

He smiled and nodded at the brothers amiably as he turned for the door. "And don't hesitate to come back if this occurs again or if you have any further problems."

"The miracle of modern medicine," Dean grumbled as he slid off the examination table. Sam automatically reached out and steadied him as he stood.

"That's not exactly fair," Sam pointed out, holding Dean's jacket open so that he could shrug back into it. "It's not like we could tell him everything."

"Should have seen your face when he asked if I'd taken a blow to the head. You looked incredibly guilty."

Sam snorted. "It was hard to keep a straight face actually."

Dean wrapped his jacket around him and stood for a moment, blinking in the harsh lights of the Emergency Room cubicle. For a moment, with his face still pale and pinched and his eyes so lost he looked very young and very vulnerable.

"Do I hate hospitals?"

Sam felt his heart wring in his chest at the forlorn question. It was still incredibly strange to see his big brother's face so open and unguarded. He'd never realized before, just how much Dean kept hidden, even from him.

Maybe especially from him.

"We've spent way too much time in Emergency Rooms in our lives, I can tell you that."

Sam pushed aside the curtain and they stepped into the hall, Dean's pace still slow and careful. He was walking the way he did after a fight, or a long drive. Stiffly, as though every muscle ached. Sam studied his brother's profile as they made their way out of the wide glass doors to the car park. "Why did you ask about the hospital? Did it seem familiar to you?"

"Nothing is familiar to me, Sam," Dean said wearily, leaning against the bonnet while Sam unlocked the car. "Nothing."

Sam helped him into the passenger seat before climbing in the driver's side, frowning as he absorbed the significant tone of Dean's last comment.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're still virtually a stranger to me, Sam. And that kinda blows your whole brotherly love theory out of the water," Dean said doggedly.

"Oh, that," Sam said, a little blankly. "I'd forgotten that."

Dean barked a short laugh. "Well, good for you. But I only have so many memories, I can't afford to forget the ones I have. Besides..." he trailed off, looking back out into the dark car park.

"Besides?" Sam asked gently.

Dean blinked slowly, profile briefly lit by a a passing car and then falling into shadow again.

"It means something to me, man," he admitted lowly. "How I feel about you means something. For better or worse you are all I have right now. My link to the world. Hell, I couldn't even answer the doc's questions back there! Couldn't tell him one damn thing about my own life. I have to rely on you for everything."

"That must be really scary," Sam said sympathetically.

"Yeah." Dean glanced at him. "I thought about pretending, you know? That I bought the whole brotherly love theory. Just to stop you from freaking out about it."

"You don't have to pretend anything to me, man," Sam said sincerely. "Whatever it is we'll deal. And whatever it is it can't be much worse than that damn seizure." He shuddered. "That sucked."

"And blowed," Dean agreed fervently.

Sam assessed his brother for a moment longer, before twisting the key and starting the car with a dull roar. A thought occurred to him and he tilted his head and shot Dean another glance.

"Why didn't you? Lie, I mean."

Dean shrugged and grimaced. "I didn't wanna,"' he said and Sam chuckled at the childish tone.

"Why?"

"Like I said, my memory's gone. Just about all I have of me has been the last few hours." He smiled at Sam, eyes wide and expressive. "And you," he continued softly.

Sam blinked, absorbing this.

"And I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable but what I'm feeling for you is very real to me. It's all I have."

Sam nodded, accepting the truth of this. What he'd said to Dean moments ago was true, somehow the idea that his brother might be feeling this weird attraction to him while suffering from amnesia wasn't nearly as worrying as it had been a few hours ago. They had bigger things to worry about now.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm not that freaked out."

Dean huffed a laugh. "You probably should be," he said, a little teasingly. "All this TLC you're showing is rapidly cranking my serious attraction to a serious crush."

Sam's cheeks reddened and Dean chuckled again.

"You're cute when you blush, you know."

"Shut up," Sam muttered, without heat.

"I'm just sayin', is all."

-666-

Morning found them in a diner, both having decided they'd rather go for real food than what passed for it at the next-door MacDonald's. Dean perused the slightly sticky menu with a small frown.

"Well, this sucks," he said, tossing the plastic card onto the formica table. "I don't even remember what I like."

"You like wheat germ and plankton," Sam said absently, eyes on his own menu and trying to decide between orange juice and coffee. His conscience was telling him he needed the vitamins, but his body was firmly in the coffee corner and cheering loud. His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep and his back ached from sitting hunched at the table surfing the net the whole night. Not so much because he really thought he'd find anything useful about stolen memories on the paranormal websites he had book marked, but because the thought of Dean going into convulsions while he slept absolutely terrified him.

He was starting to get used to functioning on little or no sleep anyway.

"Plankton?" Dean said, sounding confused.

Sam smiled apologetically. "Sorry, force of habit."

"Dude," Dean said reproachfully. "No fair teasing the mentally impaired."

"Been doing it all my life," Sam joked.

Dean smiled back at him, looking momentarily entranced. He leaned forward and murmured softly. "If we have the same parents, how did you score that adorable dimple?"

Sam sputtered and glanced quickly around the busy diner. "Did you just call me adorable?" he hissed.

"I called your dimple adorable," Dean returned mildly. He plucked the menu back up and studied it again. "That's what you get for teasing."

"Won't happen again," Sam said fervently. Dean held up the menu with an enquiring look at his brother and Sam considered another joke before thinking better of it. Dean had always been fearless when it came to payback, and now he had so much more ammunition that ever before.

"Just pick anything fried," he advised shortly. "Your taste buds will thank you, although your arteries might not."

"Pfft, screw them," Dean said cheerfully. "What have they ever done for me?"

Sam shook his head, fondness over taking exasperation. Dean could do it to him every time.

"So, our plan for today?" Dean asked as the waitress hurried away with their order.

"Back to the museum, check the fallout from that mess last night, see if we can come up with a plan to break back in and smash that sucker where it lays."

"Clobberin' time," Dean grinned in satisfaction.

-666-

Sam frowned as he pulled up in the museum's small parking lot. Two police cruisers and a forensics van took up most of the other spaces and even as they sat there, the Impala's engine idly growling, an ambulance pulled up.

"What the hell?"

They mooched their way over to the nearest cruiser where a deputy was leaning against the bonnet, directing the ambulance officers to the back entrance.

"What's going on?" Sam said, playing the interested bystander.

The deputy assessed them swiftly. He was young, maybe Sam's age and he was twitching with excitement.

"Big robbery," he said excitedly. "Haven't seen anything like this around here lately. Real professional job."

Sam feigned polite interest, fighting to keep the disbelief off his face. "Anything stolen?"

"Hell yes!" the young deputy enthused. "Only the entire Brackett Family Collection. Rubies and gold and everything! Gone!"

"Wow," Dean said, flicking Sam a quick glance. "So, what's the ambulance for?"

"The security guard. Took a nasty blow to the head. Blunt force trauma," the deputy said wisely.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked.

"He's conscious but he's kind of an old guy. Could have been worse, I suppose," he admitted reluctantly.

Sam scanned the old building with narrow eyes. "Uh, any suspects?"

"It's early days yet," the deputy said defensively. "Besides, you should have seen the real pro job these guys did getting in. I doubt they'll drop right into our laps. Probably back in LA by now," he said enviously. His radio crackled and he thumbed the button, smiling importantly. "I better go, guys. They must need me."

"What hell's happening, Sam?" Dean said urgently as the deputy strutted over the grass and up the walk.

"No idea. But what are the odds of this place getting robbed twice in one night?"

"You booked in a hurry, right? Once I got zapped? Maybe someone just found the place unlocked and took advantage of the situation."

"Maybe," Sam said slowly. The ambulance officers were coming back down the walk, wheeling a stretcher with the old security guard propped up in a sitting position. A field bandage was strapped to the back of his head and he held an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"So I guess we won't be breaking in to the museum tonight," Dean observed as they drove back through town. "Damn, and I was looking forward to smashing something."

"We have to find that pendant."

"Well, duh. Any ideas where to start?"

Sam blew out a breath. "How about the hospital?"

-666-

"I'm here to see my uncle," Sam said, leaning over the reception desk with his best worried face. "He's the guard down at the Brackett Museum? I heard on the news that he was hurt?"

"Oh, yes," the nurse said, smiling at him sympathetically. "Ted Lewis. He's still in Emergency, I'm afraid." She was fair haired and about 50. Her flowery name badge said Patty.

Sam turned his mouth down. "Is it that bad?" he said tragically.

"Well, I can't really say until the doctor is finished..." Patty said hesitantly. Sam sniffed and looked anguished and Patty glanced around the quiet reception and patted his hand in a soothing manner. "You just wait here, honey, and I'll run and find out." She bustled down the corridor.

Dean poked his head around the corner and grinned admiringly. "Oh, you are good."

Sam flicked a glance over his shoulder. "Years of practice," he said dryly.

"Well you had me about ready to cry. So, is this part of what we do? Lie to nice people?

"When necessary." Sam studied his brother quizzically. Dean usually seemed to enjoy the lies and deception, getting a kick out of how outrageous he could be, how many silly names he could slip in before anyone noticed. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No," Dean shrugged carelessly. "All in a good cause, I guess. You just, I don't know. You just don't look the type. You look so innocent and fresh faced."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Something I take advantage of shamelessly, believe me. I'm not proud of it."

"But you lie like an expert, man."

Now that was discomfort and Sam quickly put his finger on its cause. "Not to you, Dean," he said softly. Sincerely. "We don't lie to each other, okay? We might not tell each other everything, in fact growing up the way we did it was sheer self defense to keep some things to ourselves. But we don't lie."

Dean opened his mouth to respond then broke off and ducked back around the corner when the nurse bustled back up.

"Honey, you have nothing to worry about," Patty said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "Doctor says it was a simple head wound and they'll probably just keep him for a few hours in case of concussion. It could have been a whole lot worse."

Sam squeezed her hand then leaned forward and kissed her round pink cheek. "Thank you so much."

Patty swatted his arm and told him it was no problem but her cheeks were just a bit pink as she headed back around her side of the desk.

-666-

"Dude, you made her day," Dean snickered.

"Did you hear what she said?" Sam said intently. "It could have been worse, same as the deputy said."

"So, what, you're thinking inside job?"

"Maybe. Dear Uncle Ted does his 8 o'clock round and finds the door open, the alarms down and case removed."

"Uh huh," Dean mused. "And he's thinking, all I have to do is grab the jewels and rough myself up a bit. Perfect cover."

"Yeah," Sam said thoughtfully. "Maybe. It's a lead anyway."

"So what next, Sherlock?"

"We find out about Ted Lewis, and where the hell he might have stashed a fortune in purloined jewels."

-666-

"Poor old Ted." The elderly lady idly scratched the dirty white fur of the cat she was clutching in her arms. Straggles of dyed red hair escaped the hair net bristling with curlers on her head. "What's this world coming to? Used to be this was a nice safe town. Why, when I was a girl-"

"Does Ted have any family that you know of?" Sam interrupted gently.

The old lady frowned for a moment before getting back on track. "No, no family, he spends every holiday alone."

"Does he ever talk to you about leaving San Marco? Traveling maybe?" The cat in her arms stretched and turned a smug look on Sam, who reached out and scritched it behind one ear.

"Ted never talks much at all, truth to tell. Keeps to himself. Sad fact is he's had more visitors today than he's ever had before."

"Visitors?" Dean eyed the cat with dislike and it turned its nose up at him and began to purr more loudly. "The police?"

The old lady shrugged and her hair net slipped down a notch. "No, why would the police come here? He's the victim isn't he? It was this reporter, this lady reporter. Nosed around, asked a lot of questions." She narrowed her eyes. "You reporters too?"

Sam smiled. "Freelance. What paper did she work for?"

"San Marco ain't got but one newspaper. The Star. You gonna write a story about this?"

"Maybe. Did you get the reporter's name?"

"Linda something," the old lady sniffed disapprovingly. "Don't like to see women doing a job like that. Why, in my day-"

"Thanks so much for your time," Dean cut her off with a charming smile.

-666-

Linda Yates was sitting behind her desk frowning fiercely at her screen and typing furiously at her keyboard.

"Excuse me," Sam said quietly at her shoulder and she jumped, spinning around. Her shoulder length brown bob caught the harsh overhead lights of the office. Sam smiled, knowing how it showed his dimple and using it ruthlessly. "Sorry, did I startle you?"

Linda raised a brow at the boyish charm. "No problem." She glanced around the busy copy room. "You just get used to blocking the noise out around here. Can I help you?"

"My name's Sam and this is my brother, Dean," Sam said politely. "We were just talking to Mrs. Garrity over at our Uncle Ted's place?"

"Ted Lewis?" Linda said indignantly. "She told me he didn't have any family."

Dean smiled confidentially. "She's quite a character."

"That's one way to put it," Linda muttered.

"Thing is, Miss Yates -"

"Linda."

Sam smiled again. "Linda. We're a bit worried about our uncle. A deputy told us that there's talk this thing at the museum might be an inside job."

"We don't want to see anything pinned on poor old Uncle Ted," Dean said earnestly.

"I don't think your uncle has anything to worry about," Linda said dryly. "I don't know what your contact at the sheriff's office told you, though I can guess which pea-brain it was. But the cops have bigger fish to fry on this one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the letter," Linda said as if it were obvious. "Some loony sent to the paper. Your uncle didn't tell you?"

"Yeah, he mentioned it," Dean hurried to assure her. "But we don't know all the details."

Linda rifled through some papers on her desk and handed over a photo copied page. "Pretty much comes right out and says they're gonna be stolen," she said as Dean glanced over it. "They printed it, it made good copy. But no one took it seriously until this happened."

Sam watched with a worried frown as Dean's face paled and his jaw tightened. He handed the page to Sam. "And this was sent to the newspaper?"

"And the sheriff's office," Linda confirmed.

Sam was hardly listening as he scanned the page. "Can we get a copy of this?" He looked up and smiled reassuringly into Linda's doubtful face. "It might make Uncle Ted feel better if he can see it for himself."

-666-

"Can you believe this?" Sam said, using a pencil to circle parts of the page he was studying. "Satanists? It's bizarre."

"I've given up being surprised," Dean said, dunking a fry in ketchup and scarfing it down. "Nothing makes much sense with a huge hole where your brain used to be."

"Huge?" Sam said automatically. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Ha ha."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sorry, force of habit. Okay, it prattles on about worshipping Satan, blood of the goat, blah blah blah. Then listen to this part. The power of the Curse can be unleashed by those who worship His Darkness."

"Well, the legends about this Curse have been circulating for years, right?"

"Yeah. But power of the Curse? How do you use a curse? What does it mean? "

Dean shook his head. "It means someone's elevator's not going all the way to the top, seriously."

"But those who worship the darkness." Sam stressed. "D'you think it's some kind of cult or something?"

"What I think is that we're screwed," Dean said, frowning and rubbing his neck. "Tracking down some greedy old security guard was a cakewalk compared to trying to get a handle on some bunch of black robed loonies."

Sam's attention sharpened on him. "You okay?"

Dean dropped his hand. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

"It's just you were rubbing your neck before your seizure last night," Sam said worriedly.

"I'm fine," Dean repeated snappishly. "I think I pulled some muscles during that damn fit." He grimaced and pushed his half-eaten plate away. "Don't worry, Sam, I'm not gonna spaz-out here and embarrass you."

Sam shook his head reproachfully. "That's not what I'm worried about."

Dean grimaced again and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, man" he muttered. "I just don't know how much longer I can take this, that's all. I just feel so..." He shook his head, seeming lost for words.

"We'll fix this," Sam said urgently, reaching out and taking his brother's wrist in gentle fingers. "I promise."

Dean looked down at Sam's long fingers encircling his wrist. "I just feel so... useless, you know?" he said lowly. He pulled back until Sam's fingers were touching his own and gripped them tightly. "I look at you working and I think there's stuff I should be doing, saying. I feel like I can't back you up like this."

"You're doing fine," Sam told him honestly.

"What happens if we can't get these jewels back?"

"We'll get them back," Sam said confidently. He squeezed Dean's hand then gently extricated his fingers from his brother's grasp. "Let's get back to the motel, there's something I want to look up in Dad's journal."

Dean nodded but he didn't speak. He just looked down at his empty hand, flexing his fingers slowly.

End of Part Two

Part Three

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