I do not own Dean or Sam or their parents,but the other characters and the idea itself are mine...all mine.

Hi guys! Wow, the response is overwhelming. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this story. I also want to add that I will be sure to take into account any questions you guys may ask and try to incorporate them in the story. I have been known to leave out key points, so keep those questions coming so I can be sure toaddress any holes in the story. You guys rock! Enjoy the next installment.

Sam didn't ever remember lying to his parents before. Sure, there had been the little white lies; things like Yes, Mom, I did eat all my broccoli, and Sure, Dad, I filled the gas tank. But when it came to the hard core lies, Sam had never been that good at it. So he wasn't at all surprised that his hands were shaking and he was perspiring more than usual as he snuck back into Dean's room with the duffle bag full of stuff. It wasn't that he didn't want his parents to know that he'd brought it, he just didn't want them around when he presented it to Dean. He was still afraid of Dean's reactions, and his mother couldn't handle any more disappointments at the moment. So he'd snuck onto the floor, stealthily peeking into Dean's room before slipping through the door, unnoticed by his parents who were just getting off the elevator. Before they could walk through the door, Sam stashed the bag in the lowest dresser drawer, determined not to bring it out until after his parents had left for the night.

Dean woke up soon after they returned, staring blankly at the three expectant faces that hovered over him. "Dean, baby, how are you feeling?" Mary implored, her voice hopeful.

Blinking against the florescent lights, Dean stared at her. "I'm fine," he said, coldly. "I want to get out of here."

For a minute, Dean felt a pang of guilt as he watched her face fall at his tone. This woman had definitely aged, but she still resembled his mother. Maybe I should go easier on her; at least until I can figure out what the hell is going on here. I may have to rely on these people for a while. Dean tried to smile at her, but his uncertainty of the situation made it appear more of a grimace. "I'm sorry," he tried again, voice still flat, but at least the intentions were there. "I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around all this." Well that much was true at least. Just not for the same reasons they were thinking.

"Son, I know this has to be hard on you," John soothed, assuming he knew the reason's for his sons anxiety. "I'm sure it's a shock to wake up and find out. But we're going to be here with you. Your mother and I will be by your side through this whole thing. You've got your family behind you. We'll talk to all the best doctors and specialists. We'll get through this – as a family."

Dean had to fight back the smirk that threatened to plaster itself to his face. Family. Ha. I don't have a family. I have myself...and Sam. Maybe Sam. And right now I don't give a flying shit about my legs. I'll deal with that later. Right now I need to deal with what the hell is going on, and where the hell I am.

Dean's lack of response hadn't gone unnoticed, and Mary was desperate to get his response. "Honey, did you hear your father?"

"Yeah, I heard him. I appreciate what you said." Dean hesitated. Why and I so damn concerned with their feelings? "Would you mind if I had a minute alone with Sam, please?"

Mary nodded willingly, relieved at the fact that Dean hadn't disowned her again. She would have done absolutely anything for him just because of that one little fact. "Of course, honey. As a matter of fact, I think your father and I will give you two the rest of the night to talk. This has been a rough day for all of us. We'll be back in the morning."

"Alright." She leant over him, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. Dean made a conscious effort not to flinch at her touch. "I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow then."

The brother's watched their parents leave, and then awkward silence flooded the room. Suddenly the monitors above Dean's head had become very interesting to Sam, and Dean was paying an equally great amount of attention to the call button on the bed. Dean finally spoke, abruptly. "What did you bring with you?"

"Huh?" Sam glanced at his brother, startled.

"You heard me," Dean insisted. "The duffle bag you snuck in here earlier...when you thought I was asleep. What's in it?"

"Oh, that," Sam dead panned. "It's nothing. Just, uh...some stuff I thought you might like to see."

Dean pressed on. "Such as?"

Looking down at his feet, Sam mumbled his response. "You just...you didn't seem to know who we were. You didn't seem to remember your life. So I um, I brought some stuff to help you remember."

There were buttons on the side rail of the bed that served to adjust its position, and Dean selected one of these buttons now, raising the head of the bed so he could see better. This oughta be good. He'd already tried to convince Sam that he didn't remember this life because it wasn't his life. What more was he supposed to say. What the hell. Might as well look at them. "Sam, I don't think this is going to help," he warned. "But you can give it a try. Lemme see."

Sam sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a quick huff before retrieving the bag from the drawer and throwing it on the bed between Deans legs. Dean allowed himself a fleeting thought that he hadn't felt the bag land, but he didn't let it stick. If this was a dream then he wouldn't have to worry about being paralyzed when he woke up. This would all be over soon enough.

The zipper echoed loudly as Sam opened the bag and began pulling out the stuff he'd collected as Dean watched, intrigued. So this is my life. My supposed life. The first item Sam handed him as a framed portrait of the family, taken at Christmas. The mother wore a red and silver velvet dress, the father wore a dark brown suit jacket and green shirt, and both boys wore sweaters, each in a different shade of blue. Dean stared at it for several minutes, searching for any sign of it being doctored. He could find none, every last detail was perfect. "Was this taken this year?"

Sam gave his confirmation. "Last Christmas. It's almost been a year. You know it's November now."

Shaking his head in confusion Dean eyed Sam curiously. "No it's not...It's March. It was..." He stopped again, noting the troubled expression on Sam's face. This isn't working. How am I supposed to figure a way out of here if I can't even get out of bed? And Sammy isn't going to be any help if I can't get him to understand.

Taking the picture from Dean's hands Sam felt a lump form in his throat. What the hell is wrong with him? How am I going to help him if I can't even convince him of the date? God, this stuff has to work. It has to get through to him. Sam reached back into the duffle bag and pulled out the next item, hoping it would have better luck than the next. It was another picture, this one of Dean and several friends wearing university t-shirts, sunglasses, and each with a beer in hand. "You were tail-gaiting at a football game here. That's you, of course, and then a bunch of your frat brothers. That's Tim, and–"

This time Dean couldn't suppress his laughter as he practically spit on Sam in his effort to hold it in. "Now I know this is a dream," Dean laughed. "You're telling me that I not only went to football games, but that I was also in a fraternity? Me? A frat" Not to mention the simple fact that I went to college, period. This is fucked up.

Sam stared back at Dean completely serious. "You were on the soccer team, too," Sam replied, grabbing one of the many trophies Dean had accumulated through the years and handing it to him.

Dean hesitated before he accepted the trophy, wondering if he might be electrocuted if he took it. When he finally took possession of the trophy Dean studied every inch of it, running his hands over the etched words that read 'Dean Winchester All State Champions 1998.'

"That one's from highschool," Sam added. "But you played in college, too."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean set the trophy down on the table beside the bed. "What other lies do you have in that bag?"

"Please, Dean. Try to accept this stuff. Try to remember. You're really starting to freak me out with all this 'not my life' stuff." There was that look again, the puppy dog gaze.

Dean sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'll try better." I've got to get him on my side. I'm never going to figure this out on my own.

"I'd rather you call me Sam," the boy voiced, reaching into the bag yet again, this time bringing out a model car.

"Now that I recognize," Dean said, his eyes finally lighting up as he reached for the miniature version of his precious Chevy Impala. "Well, not the model itself. But I have a real car just like it. I know this car."

A smile widened on Sam's face. "Yes, you do. It's your obsession. You treat that thing better than most girls you've dated."

"So I own that car in this reality, too?" Dean questioned eagerly, sitting up straighter in his curiosity.

Sam nodded, choosing to ignore the wording, although it still tugged at his subconscious. This reality? As in, there are other realities? It was still so hard for Sam grasp Dean's mental state, and every time he made reference to it Sam found himself wincing internally. "It's been parked in the garage ever since the accident. Dad brought it home so we could keep an eye on it. He knew you would be pissed if anything happened to it." He didn't add that they'd wondered if Dean would ever be able to drive it again.

It's like they know me. How do they know me so well? Dean smiled, finding himself relaxing some as things became more and more familiar. "Thank you for taking care of my car." He was surprised to find that his curiosity was actually beginning to overpower him, and he leaned forward, trying to look further into the bag. "What else do you have in there?" If nothing else, this is making for a great show and tell.

More rooting through the bag resulted in another framed item, but this one wasn't a photo. Dean took the matted diploma in both hands, realizing that this would be the first and probably last time he would ever see his name combined with a degree. "I have a Bachelor's degree in History?" Dean asked, failing to hide his surprise.

"And a Master's. You focused on mythology. Your Master's thesis was a study on the mystical powers that many of the mythical creatures supposedly had. That's probably why you were dreaming about supernatural stuff when you were unconscious."

Dean froze, blinking in rapid succession. No, that's not it. That can't be it. It wasn't a dream. It was real! I know it was real. His body began to react once again, as the panic returned. The previously steady heart rate now seemed to double in speed, feeling as though it would burst free from his chest at any second. Breath came in short gasps, creating a dizzying feeling in his head as his brain was deprived of oxygen. The grey spots returned, dancing a polka in front of his eyes. Sweat poured down his face.

"Dean, calm down," Sam ordered, jumping from his seat and bracing his hands around Dean's shaking arms, pushing him back against the bed. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't tell him. Couldn't put it in words. Because if Dean admitted to Sam what was bothering him, it meant he had to admit to himself that he'd just lost his first ray of hope. He'd just doubted himself. Pieces of the life Sam was trying to demonstrate for him were beginning to fall into place, and Dean feared there was more logic to accepting a coma and a dream than to explain how he'd ended up in a new dimension of his previous life.

The frantic machines had registered down at the nurses station, and Laura soon rushed through the heavy door, filled syringe already in hand. Dean's eyes widened, adding to the already out of control panic that was presently consuming him. "I don't want that," he insisted. "I don't need it."

Laura stepped toward him, reaching for the IV line and the joint where she could insert the fluid. "Dean, you need to calm down. If you can't do it by yourself, I need to do it for you."

"Please," Dean begged, big brown eyes pleading, desperate. "I can calm down. Just give me a minute. I can calm down."

"You have one minute." He reacted to Laura's stern gaze, his brain somehow grasping an understanding of the urgency for him to calm down. "Deep breaths, Dean," she soothed, sliding the syringe into the front of her smock and placing her hands against the sides of his face. "You're doing great. Just breathe."

It took him less than the allotted minute for Dean to regain his composure, blushing when he realized the weakness he'd demonstrated twice in front of his nurse. But then, she's seen me in my weakest hour. She was there in the hospital when Sam was brought in. She was there from the start. ...I think. He had to know. Had to reconfirm that something wasn't right. Had to get himself back on track. "Laura, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can," she agreed, flashing a shy smile at her patient. Even having spent six weeks deep in a coma, not to mention his apparent psychological issues, she couldn't deny her attraction to his handsome, chiseled features.

Dean took a deep breath, preparing himself for her answer before he even gave the question. "When you were in school, were you ever the resident advisor in a dorm named Weston House?"

Sam shot up, arms outstretched just fast enough to catch the stunned nurse as she stumbled backwards, he knees going weak. "Dean, how did you know that?" Laura stammered, sinking into the chair that Sam offered her.

Instead of answering, Dean shot out another question. "Was there another RA there named Justine?"

Body shaking visibly, Laura nodded. "She was one of my best friends. How do you know these things?"

Again, he followed her question with another one of his own. "How many students went missing at the hands of the campus attacker?"

Laura's jaw dropped, answering Dean's question without ever saying a word, and proving that he'd achieved the desired shock effect. Looking over at his brother, Dean noted his eyes had also widened, having already heard the story earlier in the day. Part of Dean's dream wasn't entirely a dream. What the hell?