Samnesia - Chapter 1 - Photographs

Warnings: angst, fluff, kidnapping, shitty friend.

Then

How did Brooke always attract the asshole? Why was it always her?

The answer usually involved her friend, Emily.

The most recent douchebag to be caught in Brooke's inexplicable 'asshole-tractor-beam', Tommy, currently sat a little too close to her. He hadn't wasted any time in occupying Emily's vacated seat beside her at the bar. It was probably still warm when Tommy had invited himself to refill it. In the - she checked her watch - forty minutes that she had been stranded with the jerk, she realized that her problem was that she was just too nice to tell him to fuck off.

Tommy was tall, casually well-dressed, broad-shouldered, and had a nice smile. He would have totally been Brooke's type if he hadn't been so persistent. Otherwise, she might have thought he was a decent-looking, genuine guy.

She would have been wrong. He was completely self-centered, talking only about himself and ignoring everything Brooke said. He hadn't even acknowledged her when she told him she needed to use the bathroom. He'd just kept talking as though he expected her to put off her basic human needs to listen to him.

He was obnoxious, but the ominous feeling she was wrestling with now hadn't started to grow until Tommy had become increasingly insistent that Brooke spend the night with him. His eyes turned colder every time she tried to brush him off, and the smile he'd donned when he first sat with her had long since gone serpentine. There was a difference in his demeanor, and she was starting to suspect that something terrible might happen to her if she refused.

Eventually, Brooke agreed to go home with Tommy so he'd shut up long enough for her to use the bathroom before they left. She had no intention of leaving with him. Her plan was to sneak out the bathroom window, go to her car, and split.

She looked back across the bar as she opened the door leading to the bathroom just in time to see Tommy snort a white powder off his hand. Perhaps that was the reason for his conceit. Nervous energy or jonesing for a fix? Either way, Brooke didn't want to stick around and find out.

Brooke made her clumsy escape through the small window and was halfway across the parking lot, heading toward her parked Audi, before realization hit her. A fruitless search of her purse as she hurried across the gravel proved that her keys were gone.

"Shit, Emily!" she cursed toward the sky. Emily had driven them to the bar so Brooke could touch up her makeup on the way and must have, as a force of habit, put the keys in her own purse rather than pass them back to Brooke. Which wouldn't have been an issue except that Emily was nowhere to be found. Brooke hadn't seen her for some time and assumed she'd hooked up and left without telling Brooke goodbye. It wouldn't be the first time.

Okay. The second half of her escape plan was no longer a viable option. Tommy was persistent, and it didn't take a genius to realize he'd soon come looking for her. The roadhouse was on the outskirts of town, a few miles' walk back home. Her high heels definitely weren't made for walking, and if she waited outside the bar for an Uber, Tommy would find her. As if on cue, the hum from inside the bar grew louder, and she turned back to see Tommy step out, searching for her.

Brooke ducked down between the cars. Fuck! Where could she go? She had told Tommy she had an Audi while making polite conversation before she was aware of how dangerous he actually was. What if he decided to walk through the parking lot to locate the vehicle and, effectively, her?

Think, Brooke, think!

Sam sat in the Impala, his computer on his lap, searching the internet for potential cases. He and Dean had been on back-to-back hunts for weeks, and his brother's company had become stifling. He wanted quiet and craved some time alone, so he'd driven to the neighboring town, hoping to find a quiet, all-night coffee shop, but the only place open was Finnegan's Bar. It hadn't been the environment he sought, but it would have to do. He didn't want to drive any further out and be too far away from the bunker in case he was needed. However, he hadn't been in the frame of mind to actually go inside and be required to talk to the bar staff or any overzealous bar patrons, so sitting in the Impala in the bar's parking lot had become his solace for the evening.

The arrival and departure of the bar's customers had pulled his attention from his computer a few times, but he'd quickly adapted to it, and before long, he could ignore it without glancing up. That was until a new, unfamiliar movement at the side of the building caught his eye.

Sam watched curiously as a woman clambered out of a ground-floor window that he assumed was the bathroom. She straightened her shirt and jacket and then half jogged across the parking lot, searching in her bag.

He chuckled to himself. He always thought it was a chick flick cliché, women climbing out a window to escape a bad date, but clearly, that's what she'd done. She kept glancing back at the bar like she expected someone to follow.

He tracked her as she passed, but she didn't notice him. Then, he went back to his search. A minute or so passed before he heard the back door of the Impala open. Sam twisted on the leather seat to find the escapee staring up at him.

Brooke tried the handle of the car on her left. Locked. She twisted, keeping low, and tried the back door of the sleek black car to her right. It opened with an audible creak.

Her sigh of relief was cut short when she met the eyes of the car's occupant, sitting in the passenger seat and looking slightly bewildered that a strange woman had opened his car door.

"Oh, shit," she whispered, "I'm so sorry, I'm-"

"Trying to avoid the angry douchebag who's intently scanning the parking lot," he interrupted, tilting his head toward the windshield.

Panic bubbled in her chest. "Oh, god. Please tell me he's not coming this way."

"Not yet," he confirmed, taking his attention from the crouching woman to check.

She sighed heavily. "Can I just stay here a minute until he's gone, please?"

The stranger focused back on her and smiled softly. "Get in."

It would look suspicious if Tommy looked in their direction to see the occupant's face illuminated by the computer that sat in his lap with the back door open and seemingly talking to no one. Brooke decided this stranger was the lesser of two evils. If he made a move to get behind the wheel, she could jump out quickly enough.

Brooke accepted his offer, climbed in, and closed the door softly. She slid down in the seat, keeping as low as possible to conceal herself further. "Thank you, um…?"

"Sam."

"Douchebag Magnet," she replied, then rolled her eyes, "also known as Brooke."

He chuckled, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but…"

Brooke laughed in acknowledgment. He was smart enough not to lean over the seat while speaking to her. Instead, he kept an eye on Tommy by pretending to focus on his laptop.

"I'll forgive the impoliteness of not shaking my hand if you forgive me for invading your space."

"Deal." His returning smile was warm and genuine, putting her at ease.

"My friend has my car keys, but she ditched me. As soon as Mr. Persistent is gone, I'll order an Uber and get out of your way."

Brooke peeked out of the back windshield and watched Tommy prop himself against her car, arms folded over his chest, waiting.

"I can take you wherever you need to go," Sam offered.

"I can't let you do that," she told him softly.

"I don't mind. Plus, if this guy is out here looking for you this hard, I'd feel better knowing you got home safe."

Sam settled onto the couch, which was large and well used though obviously expensive. In fact, all of Brooke's furniture was high-end but practical. He liked the room, especially the solid wall of books across from him that shared their space with tasteful ornaments and photos. It was handsome but homey - lived in.

Brooke had invited him in for a coffee as a thank you for taking her home. The offer had been shy but sincere, and he hadn't been quite ready to head home, so he'd accepted.

Brooke handed Sam a hot mug before taking a seat on the other end of the couch, tucking a leg underneath herself. "So, Sam, what do you do when you're not sitting in parking lots?"

Sam smiled but took a moment to sip his coffee as if contemplating his answer. "I run a small team of people. We travel the country, private investigators." It was a lie he had told before and slipped off his tongue so easily that it was always convincing. "What about you?"

She returned his smile, impressed. "I'm an IT Security Specialist for an investment banking group."

It was Sam's turn to be impressed. She chuckled at his surprised expression but looked away, and his eyes narrowed because he could tell there was more to it. "Why do I feel like you're leaving something out?"

Her cheeks tinged pink, and he found it endearing the way she smirked into her coffee cup as she brought it to her lips. Brooke took a quick sip and shrugged. "I own the company. The IT Company, not the investment banking," she clarified, puffing out a long breath. It appeared to alleviate some of the shyness she seemed to feel under the scrutiny of his admiring gaze. "Built it from the ground up."

"Why wouldn't you lead with that?"

"A lot of men find it intimidating. Well, the men I tend to meet, anyway," she shrugged again. "I guess I got into the habit of downplaying it."

"Ambitious, smart, career-driven, beautiful. They should be impressed, not intimidated. Plus, I doubt you meet most guys trying to sneak into their cars."

The embarrassed glow returned to her cheeks at his compliment, and Sam liked how the warm hue made her brown eyes seem a shade deeper, or maybe it was the flirtatious smile she threw at him from under her lashes.

The hunter in Sam woke him with a start. His senses reminded him he was in an unfamiliar place, and he bolted upright, throwing his legs off the edge of the couch. Once he scanned the room, though, he remembered.

Brooke's house. They had talked, laughed a lot, and flirted. Even with Sam having to tell white lies, the conversation flowed easily and never felt like something they kept up just to be polite. They covered a broad range of subjects, and when Sam revealed he had not seen the latest installment of the Marvel franchise, Brooke had suggested they watch it. Despite the clamor of frequent fight scenes, Sam had fallen asleep.

Sam ran his hands over his face in an attempt to wake himself fully. The oversized couch had been surprisingly comfortable, and he'd slept well. The aroma of coffee and cinnamon wafted in from the kitchen, and he could hear Brooke moving around. She would have passed his sleeping form on the way to the kitchen, and he hoped he hadn't been drooling in his sleep. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and sighed in relief that there was no evidence of slobber.

Sam reached his arms over his head as he stood to stretch his back and shoulders. Although the couch had been comfortable, he must have slept in the same position all night, and his neck cracked audibly as his head rolled from side to side. He lowered his arms, and his gaze drifted down to find Brooke staring at him.

She was leaning against the door frame, coffee mug in hand, seeming to enjoy the view of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up. "Morning," she grinned, bringing the cup to her lips.

"Hey," he greeted, smiling softly.

"Coffee?" she offered, turning to go back into the kitchen. "I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful," she explained, pouring the freshly brewed black liquid into a mug, "but my cab should be here in twenty minutes."

"Right," Sam nodded in understanding, "I forgot, your 'business trip' to Hawaii."

Brooke chuckled at his jesting tone the same way she had last night when he had implied he believed it would be more pleasure than business after she explained she was getting an all-expenses-paid trip to assist in the set-up of a new office for the investment bank she was working for. Sam was impressed and a tad jealous. Of all the places he and Dean have been, they had never bagged a hunt in Hawaii, mainly due to Dean's fear of flying.

She handed him his coffee with a shrug. "I have to keep my staff happy."

"Of course, it's all about team building."

"Exactly! And if that involves cocktails, jet skis, and sunbathing, what kind of a boss would I be if I said no?"

They laughed together, and before he could stop it, Sam's mind wandered to Brooke, sunbathing in a bikini with a cocktail in hand. The coffee cup hid his blush well enough while they finished their drinks in comfortable silence. Then, Sam put on his boots and stood semi-awkwardly in the middle of the living room while Brooke went upstairs and brought down her luggage. He shot her a polite smile as she began gliding around the house, checking that the windows were secured, doors locked, and plugs and appliances switched off.

"Cab's here!" Sam called out.

He decided to carry her bags out to the waiting car, and Brooke bounced down the stairs in time to catch him easing through the front door. "Such a gentleman."

He felt his cheeks heat at the way she grinned at him, flirtatious yet sweet.

By the time she had locked up and was walking down the path toward the cab, Sam had loaded her luggage and was ambling back toward her. A sudden bout of shyness overtook him. He felt the somewhat awkward, uncertain smile on his face, and it was evident Brooke noticed in the way she tried not to look directly at him.

"Thanks again for helping me get away," said Brooke as she met him halfway down the drive.

"Thank you for letting me escape for a while longer."

"My door is always open."

"Except when you're 'team building' in Hawaii," he teased.

She laughed lightly, "I'm back late Friday night, so my door's always open after Friday night."

He regarded her intensely for a moment, trying to gauge her sincerity, but she seemed genuine. She wasn't just saying it to be polite. She wanted to see him again. The offer put him at ease, and he relaxed his shoulders, his tight smile smoothing into a genuine grin.

"I'll keep it in mind," Sam promised.

There was a moment of awkward silence, staring at one another. What was the protocol for this kind of thing? Did they hug? Shake hands? The cab driver grew impatient and honked his horn, and Brooke broke the tension by stepping closer and tiptoeing to kiss Sam's cheek when he dipped for her to reach.

"It was great meeting you, Sam."

"You too," he told her, turning to watch her walk toward the waiting car. Before she'd slipped into the backseat, he knew he wanted to see her again, but when the car pulled away from the curb, he realized he hadn't asked for her number.

Now

"That's a great story. But it doesn't mean anything," said Brooke.

During Sam's recollection, she had dropped the gun to rest at her side and engaged the safety, but Sam knew it was more to do with gun safety than trust. She had refused to sit down, keeping a tense stance and an eye on Dean sitting in the hallway as Sam spoke, ready to raise the gun again if needed.

"So you know what bars I go to, my friend's name, that I went to Hawaii, where my house is. That doesn't mean you know me. It just means you're stalking me." Her tone became more aggravated as she continued, "And it certainly doesn't explain why the hell you're holding me, prisoner, in your bedroom!"

"You're not a prisoner!" Sam snapped. He hadn't intended to sound annoyed or angry, but remembering their first encounter had stirred up his emotions. It was bittersweet. He'd sometimes imagined recounting the events for others on the night they celebrated their first anniversary, hell, their tenth anniversary, but never thought he'd have to recount all of it to Brooke herself.

He took a deep breath, needing a silent moment to rein in his mixed emotions. His eyes traveled from the floor to hers to convey his apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. This is hard for me, you not knowing who I am. It all just…it hurts."

Brooke scanned his face with a long, curious gaze, and he thought he caught a glimpse of her bravado fading in the way her features softened, or maybe that was wishful thinking.

Sam fights the urge to stand and wrap his arms around her, wanting to ease some of the fear he'd caused and also to sate his desire to feel her in his arms again. It had been a long time, and he craved her closeness. He cleared his throat and reminded himself she didn't know who he was. If he were to make such a move, he would only reignite some of the fear she'd let go of by lowering the gun.

So he did the only thing he could, he talked.

"The last few months, the times we've spent together have made me so happy. You've made me happy. You've been my solace, Brooke. You've helped me in ways I can't even begin to tell you." He shook his head, annoyed that he was getting it all wrong, worried that his words weren't as comforting as he wished them to be. "I know I've gone about this whole thing completely wrong, and I can't apologize enough for that, but when you didn't know who I was and didn't remember us, I knew something was wrong."

"That's really sweet, um-"

"Sam," he offered, averting his gaze to hide the pain that shot through him. She'd said his name in so many ways: sighed happily when answering his call, breathy and passion-filled while she came undone beneath him, sleepily and contentedly when she woke up beside him. Now she had to be reminded what it was.

"But how do I know there is or ever was an us to remember?"

It was a fair question; words weren't enough. Sam chewed on his thoughts for a moment. How could he show her, prove to her that he hadn't made it all up? Inspiration struck, and he stood abruptly. His action sent her scrambling back a few feet and raising the gun again, mistaking his eagerness as a threat.

He held his hands high, palms out to her. "Whoa, whoa! Sorry. I was just getting my phone," he explained in the same breath she clicked off the safety.

He waited for a beat, giving her a chance to calm her breathing before slowly reaching into his back pocket for his phone. Keeping his hands high, he entered his PIN and then offered the phone to her. "There are photos, text messages, and a couple of voicemails. Take a look."

Brooke's gaze flicked from the phone to his face with care. That look let Sam know she wasn't going to step within grabbing distance of him, so he took the initiative of taking one step toward the bed and placing the phone on the edge of the mattress before backing up into his chair again.

She didn't hesitate for very long before she retrieved the device and backed away. A picture of her and Sam was illuminated underneath the organized home screen. Water droplets were visible on her eyelashes, and her face scrunched up with laughter as Sam pressed a kiss to her cheek, his dimpled grin matching hers.

She looked from the screen to Sam as if truly seeing him for the first time. "That was like our fourth or fifth date," explained Sam. "We went to the movies and got caught in a storm on the way back to the car. We made a run for it, but we were drenched. Then you dropped the key under the car, and we couldn't stop laughing long enough to pick it up."

Brooke chuckled and smiled down at the screen. "Sounds like me."

"There are loads more," he chimed, his voice full of hope that this would be the thing that tipped the scales in his favor, making her believe him. At least enough to give him more time to explain.

She scrolled through his photos and found several scattered through the camera roll of Sam and Dean in various places, but the majority were of her and Sam. They were seemingly always together like he'd said; Sam lying in her bed, both of them curled up on her sofa, a few candid ones of her wearing his shirt, a couple of her sleeping on his chest, hair haloed around her, a small, content grin gracing his lips.

"You'd know if they were photoshopped, right," he stated rather than asked.

She nodded lightly and continued scrolling as she made her way to sit on the edge of the bed. She sighed heavily and placed the gun on the nightstand. Tears pricked her eyes when she finally gazed up at him. "I look…we look happy."

"I know I was," he confessed with a tight smile, trying to keep his eagerness at bay. "I think you were too."

She sniffled back her unshed tears. Sam could see the toll of lost memories, adrenaline, and the whole messed-up situation as it all bubbled to the surface and threatened to overwhelm her. He had to remind himself again he couldn't reach out to comfort her. Not yet.

"So what the hell happened? Why don't I remember you?"

"That's why I brought you here," he sighed, relieved she finally seemed to believe him. He shuffled to the edge of his seat, "so I can figure that out."

Brooke eyed him for a moment, then turned her suspicious gaze to Dean. "And what about him?"

Sam answered for him. "That's my brother, Dean. This is where we live, and with the resources we have here, I'll be able to figure out what happened to you. We'll be able to fix it."

"Are you doctors or something?"

"Not exactly," grimaced Sam. "But I don't think it's a medical thing. It's kind of hard to explain."

Dean shrugged in agreement, and Brooke nodded softly. "Okay. So let's figure it out. Where do we start?"

Sam's dimpled smile radiated hope, and his grin seemed contagious as Brooke grinned back at him briefly. "First," he started cautiously. He needed to tread lightly and pick his words with care. He could still potentially do or say something to scare her off. "You need to stay here. You can call your family, tell them whatever you want, even the truth." He silently hoped she wouldn't tell them the truth. It would be hard to swallow for anyone, let alone a family of law enforcement. "But it would be best if you didn't go home, at least not until I know more."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, not scared like Sam had expected, "How long?"

He wanted to ask her to stay forever so he could keep her safe - safe from all the things she didn't know about, all the creatures and demons that stalked the innocent, to protect her from all the things he'd brought into her life without her knowledge. One of those things he believed to be the cause of her sudden case of amnesia, which seemed to only relate to her memories of him.

"Few days," he shrugged, feigning a casual mood he didn't feel. "A week, maybe? Then we'll see where we're at."

"Four days," she compromised, an authoritative set to her eyes, and Sam knew the unwavering tone she used meant she wouldn't be convinced otherwise. "Then we'll reassess the situation." She waited for Sam to nod his agreement, then added, "And I want pizza. With pineapple. No complaints from either of you."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam chuckled, his laughter joined by Dean's. Another memory she wouldn't remember resurfaced as he rose to his feet. "Come on. I'll tell you all about the first time we ate pizza together while I give you the tour."