Samnesia - Chapter 8 - Poker Face

Then

Taking Dean's advice to go and see Brooke proved to be a mistake. She hadn't been home when Sam arrived just after eight-thirty. Her car was in the driveway, but his knock went unanswered. The place was shrouded in darkness with no sign of life inside. He had driven around town, visited all the places he knew she frequented, and finally found her. Though, finding her hadn't brought him the answers he had hoped it would.

He had an unobstructed view of her on the other side of the room from where he sat in a booth at the back of the diner. Brooke looked good, healthy, and in high spirits. That much was a relief. Everything else he'd witnessed was the opposite. He'd seen every flirtatious smile she gave to the guy sitting across from her and felt his skin burn when she put her hand over a hand that didn't belong to him.

From the partial view he had of her date, Sam could see that this new man was almost his opposite. He was just as tall and broad-shouldered, but his blond hair was cropped close and shaved neatly at the sides. He wore casual but obviously expensive clothes and a large, gaudy gold watch that reflected the fluorescent light every time he moved.

Anger bubbled inside of Sam, and he contemplated marching over and confronting the pair. Brooke owed him an explanation, or at the very least, the opportunity to understand what the hell had happened in the time he'd been gone. But the family diner wasn't the place for a fight, and he'd been too worked up to trust himself to manage an adult discussion. Brooke had told him she was falling for him, practically told him she was in love with him, and now she was on a date with some random guy. He didn't know how else to feel other than angry and hurt.

He couldn't let it go. Not completely. He wouldn't go back to the bunker without first understanding what had happened. He couldn't sit and watch the very public display of affection, either. The man that wasn't him rose slightly to lean across and kiss her. Brooke leaned toward him and brought her hand to his cheek, and that was Sam's limit. He grabbed a couple of bills from his pocket for the coffee he'd ordered but left untouched and threw them onto the table.

He'd decided on a plan of action. He'd go back to her house, wait for her to get home (hopefully alone), and then confront her. At least then, they could talk in relative privacy. In the age of smartphones and dumb people, Sam didn't want to become a viral hit. But he couldn't stand to watch any longer. Her laughter carried over to him; whereas before, it had made him happy, now it twisted like a serrated knife in his gut. And he more than knew how that felt.

Sam slipped out of the booth at the same time Brooke's date did. Sam's heart stopped, and his breath hitched when he got a full view of his replacement.

Tommy.

The douchebag who had been the reason Brooke climbed into the Impala the night Sam had met her.

As Tommy disappeared toward the bathroom, Sam's feet made the decision for him, and before his brain formed a plan or a coherent thought, he'd slipped into Tommy's still-warm seat. Brooke's eyes glided up from her phone screen, and her smile faded from happy to awkward when the person staring back at her wasn't who she'd expected.

"Sorry," she said politely, "but someone's sitting there."

"Oh, I know who's sitting here. What the hell are you doing?" Sam spat, his anger getting the better of him.

"Excuse me," exclaimed Brooke, glaring at him, wary and incredulous. "I think you should leave."

Sam scoffed, fighting to keep the fury from his tone without success. "Don't worry. I'll leave as soon as you tell me why you've been ignoring me and why you're on a date with that asshole."

Brooke stood up. Backing away from the table, she looked over her shoulder, surveying her surroundings as if seeking help but not quite ready to call out for assistance. Firmly, she told him, "Look, I'm sorry, but I think you may have confused me with someone else."

"Brooke, are you okay?" Chloe asked, coming to her friend's aid.

"I'm fine. This guy was just leaving." Her tone was a warning.

Sam stared at her, perplexed. This guy? Then he quashed his anger long enough to really see her. Her wide eyes showed borderline fear mixed with confusion, and her body curved toward Chloe, seeking protection. There was no guilt or remorse in her features. She was confused by his presence and fearful of him, but otherwise, it was clear she felt nothing else.

The silent treatment. On a date with Tommy, of all people. It dawned on him, perhaps slower than it should have, his anger-dazed mind taking longer than usual to connect the dots, that something was wrong. His blood turned to ice in his veins. Brooke hadn't just been ignoring him. He cleared his suddenly dry throat and rose to his feet slowly to show he wasn't a threat.

He didn't need to ask, he knew the answer already, but he needed to hear it. "Brooke…do you know who I am?"

She shook her head slowly and deliberately, clearly cautious about answering, worried about displeasing him, but she replied honestly. "Sorry, no."

Tommy emerged from the restroom across the diner, and Sam knew he'd need to leave before he was seen.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he quickly apologized before racing away.

Then

The street was deserted, just as Sam expected it to be at eleven-thirty on a Wednesday night. The everyday people who lived on the residential street would all be tucked up tight in bed, getting a good night's rest to be ready for their nine-to-five routine to start again in the morning. He may have looked odd, sitting in his car parked at the curb a few houses down from Brooke's, but thankfully, her neighbors probably wouldn't be looking out of their windows any time soon.

Sam had spied from across the street when Tommy dropped Brooke home. He walked her to the door and kissed her goodnight, hands roaming in places Sam once thought were reserved for him. Even without being close enough to eavesdrop, he knew from their body language Tommy had tried to convince her to invite him in, to let roaming hands lead to more. His heart sank to his feet as he watched Brooke worry her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating it. Thankfully, she kissed her handsy date once more before bidding him goodnight.

Sam was grateful because his half-cocked plan required Brooke to be alone. He waited ten minutes after Tommy's car disappeared around the corner at the end of the street before pulling his car behind hers in the driveway.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he jumped out of his car, opened the door to the back seat in readiness, and then jogged to Brooke's front porch, ringing the bell. It felt like a month had passed before she answered.

Fear registered immediately upon seeing him. He didn't wait for her to ask what he wanted or give her time to decide to shut him out. He jammed his foot against the door, blew the chamomile dust from the palm of his hand into her face, and recited the Enochian incantation.

Her eyes fluttered, and she swayed as she tried to fight the sleep spell, but it was futile. She fell forward into Sam's waiting arms. "I'm sorry," he told her sleeping form, more for his own peace of mind, "but I swear it's for your own good."

He wrestled her limp body into a better position to be able to scoop her up, then rushed to set her into the back of his car, where he buckled her in and soundlessly closed the door. He returned to her house, grabbing her keys from the small table behind the door and her favorite pair of sneakers from the floor. Then he locked the door behind him while dialing Dean on his cell.

Dean began without a greeting, "Dude, if you're calling to tell me not to wait up-"

"Shut up a second," Sam interrupted. "I'm on my way back with Brooke. I need you to have some chamomile ready." He didn't want to have to use the spell again, but he needed her to sleep long enough to get her into the bunker and give him the time to formulate an actual plan.

"Chamomile? What's going on? What's wrong?" Dean inhaled, sharp and deep, registering what the chamomile was for. "Sam, please tell me you haven't used a sleep spell on your girlfriend."

"Okay, I won't tell you that," Sam told him flatly.

"Sam."

"Dean, please. It's already done. I'll explain when I get there. I just need you to have it ready."

He ended the call, knowing his brother would do as he asked despite his concerns.

Now

The words on the page had begun to blur an hour ago, but Sam refused to quit. He couldn't afford to. It had been over a week since he'd kidnapped Brooke, and he was no closer to figuring out the cause of her 'Samnesia'.

He'd ruled out a few possibilities. She wasn't possessed and hadn't made a crossroads deal. No ectoplasm was present at her house, no hex bags or cursed items, and she hadn't been ingesting any weird potions. He should have felt relief, having eliminated so many potential causes, but all he felt was dread. The more they ruled out, the fewer options remained, and he was running out of time.

Tommy had disappeared. Despite his adamant insistence that she contact him, he hadn't returned any of Brooke's calls and was absent without leave from work. Sam wasn't sure what that meant except that they couldn't question or test him. Maybe he wasn't just being a controlling douchebag before. Maybe he'd discovered something and tried to get in touch with Brooke to warn her. There was no way to know for certain. All Sam knew for sure was that he was tired. He was slowly beginning to feel like a failure, and if he were honest, he was losing hope.

He'd read the same seven-word sentence uncountable times because he couldn't stop himself from glancing at Brooke. She sat across the library in what he'd come to think of as her nook. She favored the location above the others to work in. The plush red velvet armchair with the matching footrest seemed as if it had been made specifically for her. He swallowed a heavy sigh of dread for the day he'd look over and find it empty, for he knew that day would arrive sooner rather than later.

While Sam spent his days neck-deep in research, Brooke worked remotely from the bunker, and they spent their evenings together, eating dinner, going to the movies, or curling up on his bed watching Netflix. He grew increasingly frustrated as the days passed, not only with their lack of answers but also because it proved more and more difficult to be around her and not be how they used to be. He missed the casual kisses. He craved for her hands to stroke absentminded patterns on his skin. The desire to feel her come undone beneath him was harder to quash with each minute that passed. Cold showers weren't cutting it anymore.

"You okay there, Sammy?" Dean asked from across the table, seeing his brother's distracted admiration of Brooke.

"No," he admitted somberly, unwilling to stop gawking. "No. I'm not okay. I'm running out of time."

"What're you talking about?"

"It's been over a week, Dean," said Sam. "She's already stayed way longer than she said she would. She's going to leave, I know it."

"Maybe that would be for the best." Dean shrugged, though his brother wasn't looking at him. "You can't keep her here forever, Sam. She has a family, friends, a life outside of these walls, a life without-"

Sam shot a death glare at Dean, and his words trailed off. "Say it. Say it, Dean," he dared angrily. "She has a life without me in it." His eyes darted back to Brooke, grateful she favored listening to music while she worked, and his raised voice hadn't caught her attention.

Dean waited until Sam focused back on him, his palms raised to show his surrender. "I'm not trying to be a dick here, Sammy. I'm just saying she's okay. She's not in danger, and she's not dying. She just doesn't remember you. Rowena is MIA, and Cas is god knows where. We're no closer to solving this than we were a week ago. Whatever is messing with you doesn't seem to want to hurt her, so maybe we use that? Maybe it's time to draw this thing out."

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek. It took a second to calm the anger rising in his chest. "You think she's safe? Really? Tommy is missing, Dean. What if he's behind all this, and he ups his game the second she returns? What if he's not involved but saw something he wasn't supposed to? How do we know they won't come after Brooke, too? There's too much we don't know. I'm not using her as bait, Dean, and I'm not giving herup. Not now."

"Because you don't want to or cause you can't?"

"Both," he said with an air of finality. He rose abruptly, pushing his chair noisily across the tiled floor. "So, drop it."

Sam's raised voice had drawn Brooke's attention, and though she couldn't hear the words of the brothers' conversation, it hadn't been hard to discern the topic of the heated discussion.

Leaving her earbuds in, she held her eyes on the screen but silenced her music so that it wouldn't further hinder her eavesdropping. Attention falsely focused on her laptop, Brooke waited until Sam had strode from the room and was out of view before looking over to Dean.

He gave her a tight smile accompanied by a curt nod in Sam's direction. "I tried," said Dean, "but I think he needs to hear it from you."

Brooke had privately asked Dean to broach the subject of her leaving. She'd thought Dean would be better suited to make Sam consider that it was time to call it quits. Now that she knew what they did, what their everyday lives consisted of, she felt the brothers had other things they should be focusing their efforts on. But from what she had witnessed, that hadn't been the case. Sam had concentrated all his attention on her.

She dragged her feet as she made her way out of the library to give herself more time to decide what she would say and because, quite frankly, she didn't want to do what she knew she had to.

Her shuffling carried her forward until she saw Sam standing in the kitchen. The sight stopped her in her tracks, and she stepped to the side, using the corner to conceal herself so she could survey him from a distance. Though, it seemed it was unnecessary. Sam was too lost in his own head to notice her approach. His eyes stared unseeing at a spot on the tiled floor, and it gave her a moment to drink him in, commit everything about him to memory.

What if she left and forgot him again? She didn't want to forget the way his hair feathered perfectly around his face. She had to remember the color of his eyes, the green hue when he'd talk passionately about something that fascinated or interested him, the dark almost completely blacked out shade of them when she'd kissed him, the turquoise that shone through when he sleepily stumbled into the kitchen after he woke.

Ogling his long, jean-clad legs, stretched out and crossed at the ankles, made her involuntarily clench her own legs together. The fantasy of grinding down on one of his thick thighs had crossed her mind more than once in the week she had spent with him. But it wasn't just the physicality of him she wanted to tattoo on her brain. It was the kindness he'd shown her, the complete selflessness, the way he'd made her laugh until her ribs ached, and the deep conversations they'd had about everything from monsters to movies and everything in between.

Despite all of that, despite not being ready to say goodbye, she knew she had to. She forced her feet to move and strode with determination the rest of the way into the room. His eyes snapped up from the floor. Now noticing her approach, he plastered on a fake smile, but something in her expression immediately caused it to fall from his lips.

Walking to the fridge, he huffed a humorless laugh, "This the part where you tell me you're leaving?"

Brooke nodded, stopping a few feet in front of him once he settled against the countertop again, opening a fresh beer. "It's time, Sam. It's been over a week. We aren't making any progress. As fun as this weird little vacation has been, I have to get back." She chuckled, trying to lighten the tense mood, but it did nothing to alter the atmosphere. "I miss my family, my friends. I have work commitments."

"You're the boss," he said somewhat harshly. He clearly didn't like her reasoning for wanting to leave.

"Yes, I am, and taking off out of the blue for a week like this is not like me," she sighed. "If I stay away any longer, it will raise suspicions."

Sam took a swig of his beer, a small opportunity to avoid asking the next question. "When?"

"Well, I promised I'd kick Dean's ass at poker tonight," she said with a wink, taking the beer from him and drinking a big mouthful before answering. "So I figured I'd go tomorrow afternoon." Sam's eye's found that interesting spot on the tiles again. The need to explain herself, to make sure he understood her reasons, to not hurt him, overwhelmed her. "It's Sunday. Figured I can get home and sort myself out for a fresh start Monday morning."

He scoffed, "Fresh start. Got it."

He was a hard man to read. The mixed emotions seemed to radiate off him in waves. She couldn't be sure if he was mad at her because she was giving up or at himself because he hadn't kept his promise. From what she did know of him, she assumed the latter.

"I'm sorry, Sam, truly I am. But I don't know what the protocol for this situation is. I don't know what I'm supposed to do here." Her voice wavered, and tears pricked the corner of her eyes.

She waited, chest heaving with the effort of trying not to cry, his eyes burned into hers, but he offered no words. The silence proved too much for her. She couldn't stand in the awkward, emotionally charged tension anymore.

"Say something. Please."

"I don't know what to say. You're leaving. You're going home, back to your life, starting fresh. Where does that leave me?" he thought aloud, not necessarily expecting her to answer. "Should I pretend I don't remember you? The time before and the last two weeks? Should I just forget you?"

His words broke her. The mere thought of him forgetting her tugged at the wall holding her sobs back, and his words were the sledgehammer needed to punch through. She swiped at the water cascading down her cheeks. "Is that what you want? To forget me too?"

He didn't hesitate, shaking his head, "No!" He closed the gap between them, thumbing away her tears, his warm hands on either side of her face. "I want you, Brooke. I want us. The way it used to be."

She puffed out a long breath, smiling sympathetically through her blurred vision. "I can't give you that. I wish I could, Sam. I'd sell my soul for that, and now that I know that's an actual thing, I still mean it." Her semi-serious joke was rewarded with a quick dimpled smile. "But maybe it's time to accept that we just have to carry on like we have been these last couple weeks, getting to know each other again. Well, me getting to know you."

"And if something happens and you forget me again?"

"I already thought about that, so I've written myself a journal and made myself some videos." She rose to the tips of her toes to kiss his mouth firmly. She pulled back to look into his eyes. "I know this is completely different for you, and I get it if it's all too much and you can't carry on like this. But if you're willing, I don't want this to be the end of us."

He kissed her, and she felt the desperation in it, as if he feared he'd never get to do it again. "I don't want this to be the end of us, either, and I don't want that to be the last time I kiss you. And I really, really don't want this to be another scenario that I regret not fighting you on. So I'm asking - no, I'm begging you - please stay."

Brooke kept her focus on him, and the longer she stared, the charm of his puppy dog eyes wore her down. She relented with a slight shake of her head. "If I agree to stay," she said, and his smile illuminated his eyes, "can we compromise? Can I at least go to the office a couple of times next week? You can drive me and pick me up or do whatever you need to do. I just need to show my face."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yes, we can make that work," he said enthusiastically, and at that moment, she knew he'd find a way to give her the moon if she asked for it. "Got space for me in your office?"

"Not sure I'd get much work done with you as a distraction," she winked, "but yes, I can make room for you."

Now

"What you got, sweetheart?" Dean asked with an incorrigible smile. "You gonna raise or fold?"

Brooke studied her cards again. She'd gotten a big fat hand of nothing, and she was going to lose a third round of poker with the eldest Winchester. Sam folded two hands ago but had stuck around to watch the competition. He leaned over to peek at her cards, but she pulled them close to her chest, concealing them from view.

"No cheating," she teased.

Sam rolled his eyes, smiling back at her, "I was just going to offer some advice, seeing as you're all out of money."

Dean waggled his brow, nodding his head toward her right hand, "That ring looks expensive."

She chewed the inside of her cheek, looking at the shiny, white gold diamond-encrusted band on her right ring finger. "No chance," she scoffed. "My brother bought me this for my twenty-first birthday."

"Come on," Dean goaded, "I'll give you a chance to win it back."

Brooke chuckled at his bravado. He was still so sure he'd win, although she had already managed to bluff him a few times. "Fine," she conceded, "but we play until I win it back!"

"That's the spirit," said Dean. "Throw it in!"

Brooke laughed at the excited seat dance he did, laying her cards face down on the table to be able to pull her ring off without revealing them to Dean. A moment passed, and Brooke continued to stare down at her birthday gift. Her left hand was suspended in midair, fingers shaking a millimeter away from making contact with the glistening piece of jewelry.

An eerie, almost undetectable, pulsing glow seemed to come from the ring she had worn every day for more than a decade, but she dismissed the thought as the library lights reflected off the polished diamonds. But why couldn't she pull it off? The muscles in her jaw clenched as she put all her effort into sending the signal from her brain to tell her fingers to wrap around the object and pull it free.

"I can't do it!" She exhaled loudly, watching her fingers spasm.

Dean puffed out a small laugh. "What's the matter? Scared you won't be able to win it back?"

"Dean," Sam warned, sliding to the edge of his seat, seeing Brooke in distress. His hand on her shoulder did nothing to pull her focus from the task she was so determined to complete. "Brooke, what's wrong?"

"I can't do it. I want to, I really want to," she explained, a bead of sweat breaking out on her creased brow, "but I can't physically do it. Like, my fingers won't move."

Sam watched as she struggled, fighting against an unseen force. Teeth clenched, she began to pant, her cheeks red from the exertion.

"Stop," he suggested softly, unable to watch her strain herself any longer. "Brooke, stop!" he begged, knocking her hand out of the way so he could grab the ring himself. A shock coursed through him. His whole body convulsed as if he'd been tasered. His body seized, eyes locked on Brooke's, silently pleading for help.

Dean jumped to his feet, his chair falling over in his haste, but Brooke snatched her hand back out of Sam's reach before he could take a step. As soon as the contact was broken, Sam's body slackened, and he slumped in his chair, exhausted.

She turned her eyes to him, her chest rapidly rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. "What the hell was that?"

"Well, I think we just figured out what made you forget Sam," Dean explained, rushing to his brother's side but relaxing when it was clear no real harm had been done.

"My ring?" she asked, staring down at it again.

"My money is on it being cursed," Dean said, far more cheerfully than Brooke thought was appropriate.

"My ring being cursed is a good thing?"

"At least we know what we're workin' with now," he grinned, the tip of his tongue peeking between his teeth. "Hell, we might just wrap this mystery up after all. Alright there, Sammy?" he asked, practically jovial as he gave his brother a couple of firm slaps on the back.

Sam controlled his breathing and sat up straighter in his chair. "Has it ever been out of your possession?" he asked Brooke, then froze with realization. "Wait," he said, "you told me you lost it…"

She thought for a moment, eyes darting back and forth as she searched her memory. "Yes, I lost it at the gym about a month ago. I was so upset I had the place turned upside down. I had to get to a meeting, so I left, but…" she swallowed thickly, realization dawning on her with a fizz of acid in her throat. "Tommy found it the next day."

Sam couldn't contain a broad smile that matched his brother's, but before he could express his excitement, Brooke's ringtone filled the otherwise quiet library.

She gave Sam a quick, apologetic smile. "Hey, Big Bee," she greeted, stepping away from the table. Despite the boys' shared elation, Brooke was shaken by the revelation and her recent experience. She hoped her brother wouldn't notice the tremor in her voice.

"Where are you?"

Normally, she'd have remarked on his lack of greeting and chastised him for being abrupt, but something in his tone told her it wasn't the time. "Brett, what's wrong?"

"You need to get home right now. Your house is on fire."

Chapter 9 - Misplaced Intentions - Friday 28th October 2022