Bah, sorry for the wait! I gotta stop making promises. To make up for it, here's another kinda-long chapter. Sorry for any mistakes or confusions that may follow - I got impatient.

Sam stumbled backwards, the air rushing from his lungs. The hand holding the knife dropped unnoticed to his side as he stared at John—at Dean. Shock and horror kept him from speaking. He couldn't think, couldn't even breathe.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Dean sagged in his bonds, his face pale and stricken. He was watching Sam, his hazel eyes wavering, but he too remained silent, save for the heavy breaths that caused his chest to heave.

The two stared at each other as time seemed to stop. Sam didn't move, but after a moment Dean shifted, suddenly dropping his head as he tore his gaze away. "Sam...I..."

Sam kept staring at him, his throat closing so he couldn't respond. Dean, unable to avoid his relentless stare, eventually raised his head.

His eyes widened in alarm.

Even as he was shouting out a warning, Sam followed his line of sight and saw Annie just as she swiped her knife at him. Sam wretched his back backward, swerving out of the way just as the knife slashed through the air where his neck had been.

The guard he had let down slammed back up and he let his instincts kick in. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, twisting it away from him until her grip slackened and the knife fell to the ground. Backing away, her wrist still caught in Sam's grasp, Annie leveled her eyes at him and started to murmur something. Before she could finish, Sam quickly dropped her wrist and punched her in the mouth.

She wasn't invincible after all. Her head jerked back but popped forward again, and the corner of her lip was stained with blood. But then in a strange sort of delayed reaction, her whole body suddenly jerked backwards as if struck, and she fell to the ground.

Sam was confused for only a split second before he realized she had faked the collapse so she could grab her knife again. He lashed out his foot, kicking the knife so that it skidded across the forest floor.

"Sam, my gun!" Dean shouted. "Front of the rock!"

Sam's eyes widened. He'd forgotten that the other man had come armed. He whirled around and raced towards the rock outcropping, which sat just off to the side. He was there in three quick strides.

Just as Annie was staggering to her feet, her hand clutching the knife, Sam turned and leveled the handgun at her chest.

They stood facing each other in a stalemate, positioned in front of Dean, the three of them forming a triangle. Sam had to ignore the other man, refused to even think of him, focusing solely on Annie.

"You're not going to kill me," Annie taunted. Keeping a tight grip on her knife, she started to edge backwards.

"Wanna bet?" he replied calmly, following her with the gun as he stepped closer.

She raised her eyebrows and then flicked her gaze towards Dean, who still hung from the trees, his arms tugging weakly at the ropes. Sam remembered her earlier threat that if she died, so would his brother.

"Don't even try that again," Sam warned her. "'Cause I'll take my chances."

"I don't believe you," she retorted, taking another step away. "If you were going to kill me, you would have done so by now."

"Just give me a reason, and I will," he told her coldly.

She looked back at him, her face full of defiance.

"Drop the knife, Annie."

"Sorry, Sam, but I can't do that." And then her lips started to move, and Sam realized she was trying another spell.

He lowered his gun and shot a bullet into the ground, right at her feet. Annie jumped in surprise, her incantation abruptly cut off. But she reacted instantly, leaping to the side at a forward angle and bursting into a sprint.

Sam almost shot her, but he didn't act quick enough, couldn't get himself to shoot her when all he saw was her back and side. And then she was at Dean's side, a knife pressed against his throat before he found the courage to squeeze the trigger.

Sam's hands almost shook, but he just gripped the gun tighter.

Keeping a careful eye on Sam, she slithered around Dean, ducking underneath the rope and stepping over his outstretched leg. The bound man became a shield, and she peered over his shoulder at Sam with triumphant pride. Sam couldn't get to her without risking Dean.

Sam looked at the other man then—his brother, Sam amended, the term echoing hollowly through his head. Dean stared back at him with attempted stoicism, but he failed miserably, only looking helpless and defeated despite his hardened face.

"What are you going to do now, Sam?" Annie asked from behind him. She snaked her arm under his armpit and up around his neck, the edge of her knife resting against the far side of his throat.

She spoke with forced calmness, but she was breathless with adrenaline and panic. Just as Sam was.

"This is all very interesting," she remarked in between pants. Sam watched her warily, his eyes burning, as she regained composure and her breathing evened out. She cocked her head, a sly smirk spreading across her face.

"Why he didn't want you to know he was your brother?" she wondered out loud with mock curiosity.

Dean's eyes squinted in pain and he twisted his head to the side. The movement dug the knife into his skin, nicking him just enough that a drop of blood appeared and slipped down his throat. Sam looked at him for a quick moment before turning back to the woman behind him.

"I think maybe," she continued in a drawl, "He wanted you out of the picture."

Sam forced his breath through his nose, but it came out shaky and loud. He shifted the gun in his hands, making sure it was pointed at her forehead.

In retaliation, she dug the knife deeper into Dean's neck. "I'm sure you don't want me to kill him," she went on, grinning. "At least, not until you get some answers." Her eyes flashed wickedly. "Isn't that right?"

"Drop the knife, Annie," Sam hissed.

"Hasn't he been lying to you? Obviously you can't trust what he says," she pointed out, unconcerned. She tilted her head. "So how long has this been going on, Sam?"

Sam gritted his teeth, refusing to answer. By now, Dean's eyes were squeezed shut, his eyebrows pressed together.

"What do you say, Sam? Should I make him talk? Would you like to hear what he has to say?"

She tapped the back of his left knee, causing it to buckle. The sudden loss of support put all of his weight on his arm, and as he fell, it caused his arm to tug hard at its bonds, pulling sharply at his wound. "Maybe I'll even hurt him a little," Annie added over Dean's cry of pain. He quickly righted himself, locking his leg underneath himself, but his face was still pinched.

"Get away from him," Sam growled at her.

"It's only a quick incantation," she went on lightly. "You've been through it. Doesn't hurt."

Sam shifted his stance. His forehead was sweating in the Texas heat, but his lips were dry, and he licked them nervously.

"Wouldn't you like me to ask something?" Annie suggested. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions."

Sam tried to ignore Dean, who was watching him again. The other man's breath came out ragged and loud, and his chest rose and fell unevenly.

Sam tilted his head forward.

"Can you do it from back there?" he asked her.

She shook her head slightly, a small smile lifting the corner of her lip. "Not effectively," she admitted. "I need to be face to face. Helps me focus."

"All right." Sam lifted his chin and then nodded. "Do it."

She flicked her eyes towards the gun still aimed at her head. "Drop that first."

He studied her for a long moment. Then he looked at Dean, whose eyes seemed to be pleading with him. "All right," he agreed.

He rotated the gun so that it pointed harmlessly sideways as he crouched down on bent knees. With slow, deliberate motions he lowered the gun onto the ground, looking up at Annie as she watched him warily.

"Sam…" Dean said, but he ignored him.

When he came back up, Annie nodded to herself. "All right," she said, her voice with hesitant relief. "Kick the gun away."

He did, his foot pushing it so it slid about ten feet away.

She raised her eyebrows. "You really need answers, don't you Sam?" He cocked his head impatiently, and a full smile spread across her face. Keeping the knife against Dean's throat, she rotated back around, climbing between his outstretched limbs so that she stood in front of him again.

"If I do this spell," she said. "You have to swear that you'll let me do my ritual."

When Sam didn't answer right away, she went on. "I don't have to kill him, you know," she told him lightly. "All I need is his mind."

Sam looked past her at his brother. Dean's face had no color left in it, and he held his head so tensely, his jaw clenched so tightly, that his eyes seemed to vibrate.

"Fine," Sam replied, nodding once at Annie. "Do it."

She turned to face Sam completely, still holding her knife behind her against Dean. Her free arm came up and pointed at Sam's forehead, just as she had done before. "Do you swear - on your life?"

"I swear," Sam answered instantly. "If you get him to tell the truth, I'll let you do the ritual."

Annie drew in a deep breath. She took a couple of steps forward and the hand holding the knife dropped from Dean's neck. She quickly brought it forward, pointing it at Sam. "I don't want you standing behind me," she said, motioning him forward with a toss of her head.

Sam complied, silently coming up to her side.

"All right, let's do this," she announced. She started turning toward Dean, but she kept a watchful eye on Sam. Sam held his hands innocently outspread, showing that they were empty.

"No," Dean whispered. "Please. Not like this."

Sam ignored him, refusing to look at him. "Do it," he told her again. After a brief hesitation, she nodded and turned to face Dean completely.

Just as her arm started to rise, Sam attacked.

He rammed into her with his shoulder, the force knocking her to the ground. She landed with a cry and immediately rolled over onto her back. While she was down, Sam started for the gun which lay just out of reach.

Annie's leg kicked out, and as Sam jumped to avoid it, her other foot hooked around his ankle. Before he could react, she yanked his leg out from under him.

He fell onto his knees but instantly used his legs to push himself back up as he scrambled across the ground. Stretching his arm out, he reached for the gun, sucking in a breath when his hand closed around cold steel.

They rose up at the same time. She held a knife but he held the gun.

"Time to give up, Annie," he said.

But she already knew that. "Like I said," she replied, panting. "You're not taking me alive." She raised her arms straight from her sides and let the knife fall from her hand. It tumbled harmlessly to the ground.

"Shoot me, Sam," she told him. "And go home with your brother."

Sam glared at her even as his jaw twitched and his hands started to shake. After a moment his vision started to blur.

And then suddenly the forest erupted with sound and voices. People rushed in, police officers Sam realized distractedly, shouting commands. He never took his eyes off Annie, never lowered the gun, even though he knew it looked bad. One of the cops yelled at him, but Sam couldn't make out the words over the roar in his ears. Maybe he should drop the gun, he thought, but then the cop stopped shouting, shushed by another, lower voice.

Annie's eyes hardened then, and she darted away from him. Sam let her go. But she wasn't fast enough, and one of the officers tackled her to the ground.

Once she was on the ground, handcuffs slapped around her wrists, Sam let himself sag, suddenly drained. He turned away from her, absently tucking the gun into the back of his jeans, and his eye caught Dean.

The other man stared back at him, sick and pale and defeated. Activity continued to swirl around the two of them. Sam was dimly aware of the figures moving past him, but his eyes never left Dean's face.

Suddenly Sam couldn't take it. He finally broke his gaze, dropping his eyes to the ground, and stepped forward. Without a word, no longer able to look at Dean's eyes, he grabbed one of the fallen knives and began sawing through his bonds. He started at his feet, and when they were free, he rose and began working on his arms.

They stood inches from each other, close enough that Sam could feel the air move as Dean breathed. Sam concentrated on the rope, watching as they frayed under the force of the knife. Once the ropes were no longer supporting Dean's arms, they fell to his side. He held them stiffly, the blood now dripping sluggishly down to his hands.

Sam stepped back.

"Lord, Dean, are you all right?"

With a jump, Sam blinked at the middle-aged woman who had suddenly appeared beside them. He realized she must have been Lieutenant Stevens, the woman who had called him to Crider. And he suddenly realized why Dean had dropped him off at the hotel that day when he went to interview her. She knew who Dean was, even when his own brother didn't.

Dean grunted in reply, and Sam couldn't tell if he was answering in the affirmative or not. "Officer Stevens, I'm sorry, but I—we need to get out of here."

She hesitated, squinting at them through sympathetic eyes. "Dean, I can't...We need you guys if we're to charge her with any crime." Dean shook his head, refused to accept her answer.

There was a startled shout behind her, and all three of them twisted around to look. Sam bit back a gasp at the sight. Annie was sprawled on the ground, legs and elbows askew like a limp doll. Two police officers stood around looking dumbfounded while another crouched beside her, a hand pressed against Annie's neck.

"What happened?" Stevens demanded.

"She...She's dead!" the officer on the ground shouted back.

"What?"

"I don't know what happened," another one reported, taking a few steps towards Stevens with his arms spread. "She just collapsed."

"Did she say anything?" Sam asked, startling the man.

"Um, yeah, she did. But I couldn't understand it," he replied.

Annie's words ran through his head. You're not going to take me alive. Sam nodded slowly, looking at her lifeless body.

"Well, the ambulance should be here shortly," Stevens told the other officers. "We'll let them handle her." She turned back to Dean. "Do you think you can walk back to the road, or should we get a stretcher in here?" she asked gently.

He shook his head stiffly. "Sam'll take care of it," he told her. Sam noticed he refused to look at him, but he didn't protest.

But Stevens did. "Dean..." she said. "You really should have those looked at."

Dean just set his jaw. "No. I can't." Then he did glance at Sam, though only through the corner of his eye. "Sam will take of me."

She stared at him for a moment longer and then relented. "All right. But only because I'm sure Sam knows a thing or two about fixing your ass." Her words were softened by a half-smile, and she patted Sam on the shoulder.

"And make sure he takes care of your wrists too, Sam," she added, nodding at the blood that hadn't yet dried along his right hand. Sam had forgotten all about his own wounds, but as soon as she pointed them out, his wrists started to throb with pain.

He quickly refocused his attention as Stevens continued. "I was real sorry you weren't able to visit the other day with Dean," she was saying. "It's great seeing you again, just wish it was under better circumstances."

Sam's eyes widened, but he quickly recovered. "Yeah, I know, great seeing you too," he replied with a half-smile. Inside, his stomach flipped. How many other people did he know but couldn't remember?

He felt dizzy and numb.

"But I'm not going to help you sneak out of here," she went on. "You're on your own."

She gave them a sad smile, giving Sam's shoulder another pat. Then she turned around and started towards the others, pulling out a walkie-talkie. Just as she started talking into it, Dean tapped Sam softly on the arm and then turned the other way, slipping deeper into the woods.

He paused briefly to pick up his shotgun but then continued on, never looking to see if Sam was following.

Sam watched his back for a few moments. Then he started behind him.

Their strides were quick and silent as they hurried away from the crime scene. Sam, with his longer legs, soon caught up with his brother. But even as they walked side by side, neither of them spoke.

They had to make a wide arc to get back to the car, so despite their speed, the journey took longer. Or maybe it seemed longer to Sam, who wanted only to get back to the hotel room so he could demand answers, or maybe take a long nap.

They were within feet of the car when Dean suddenly stumbled. Sam was there instantly. "Sorry," Dean mumbled as Sam wrapped an arm around his back, careful of his arms. Sam didn't answer as he helped Dean as they stepped out of the woods.

Dean's back was stiff, tense, and Sam thought he would have shaken off his help if the situation had been different.

The road was empty as they came up to the car. "When I called the police, I gave them directions from the west," Dean explained at Sam's confused expression.

Sam nodded in understanding. Dean would know how to think ahead, would have experience escaping tricky situations. He felt a jab of anger in his stomach, suddenly wondering just how good Dean was at making clean getaways, leaving behind places and brothers without a second glance.

Sam eased his arm from Dean, feeling that he could stand on his own the few steps it took to reach the car door. To Sam's astonishment, Dean headed for the driver's side.

"Give me the keys," Sam said firmly. "I'm driving."

Dean felt strongly enough to shoot him a look, but Sam stood resolved. "Aw, c'mon, won't you let your own brother drive your car?" he asked sarcastically. He knew it was dirty, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

It worked. His shoulders slumping, Dean handed him the keys and he veered back to the passenger side while Sam climbed into the driver's seat. Sam waited until Dean was settled in before he started the car.

Before he could pull away, Dean spoke, his voice raspy. "Can you reach into the backseat, grab that towel?" he asked. Sam took pity and leaned over until his hand felt the texture of terrycloth. He pulled the hand towel back with him and started to hand it to Dean. "Wrap that around your right hand," Dean said instead.

Sam frowned, looking down at his wrist. It still throbbed painfully, and blood was sluggishly running down from the abrasions the rope had cut into his hand. But as rough as it was, the wound wasn't nearly as bad as Dean's.

"You're the one driving," Dean explained.

Suddenly understanding, Sam wiped the blood from both his hands on the towel and then wrapped it around the wounds on his right wrist. He tied the ends firmly, securing it tight. The pressure of the cloth pressing into his wrist and thumb took his mind off the pain, and the towel soaked up the oozing blood.

Dean, for his part, sat stiffly beside him, hunching his arms inwards so that any blood would drip into his lap. Sam found himself unsurprised that Dean would rather sit uncomfortably and ruin his jeans than get blood on his car. It was too late for his steering wheel, Sam thought, eyeing his hands and the blood-soaked towel.

The drive back to the hotel was just as silent as the walk to the car had been, but the tension in the closed, confined space felt thicker. Sam was desperate to say something, but he wanted to wait. He needed to give his full attention so he could watch Dean, so he could look at his eyes. He needed all the information he could get, even – or especially – the emotions he hoped Dean felt.

He needed Dean to feel something. He wondered what it all meant – the lost memories, the sightings of Dean in Stanford, the secrets he was keeping, the lies he and the Warrens have told him over that past year – everything.

Most of all, he needed to know why.

But not until they were shut away safe in the hotel room. Maybe then he would understand why the ache he felt now was so...real.

Halfway to the hotel, Dean rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Sam didn't think he actually fell asleep, but he didn't move again until Sam pulled into a parking spot. Once Sam turned the car off, Dean opened his eyes and sat back up.

He kept his gaze forward, staring at the door of their hotel room. "I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered after a moment.

Sam waited to see if he would say more, but when he didn't, he pushed open the car door and got out. Dean followed a few seconds later, standing a few feet behind him as Sam inserted the room keycard into the lock.

The first aid kit was always kept on the bathroom counter. That was one of the first things "John" had told him. Sam went straight for it, aware of Dean's eyes on his back as he crossed the room. Without a word, he grabbed it, some towels, and the ice bucket which he filled with water. Then he turned back around.

"It might be easier if you sit in the desk chair," Sam said. Dean obeyed without a word and Sam took a seat across from him at the edge of the bed.

Once again, Sam was tending to this man's injuries. The last time, back on the floor in his bedroom, he hadn't known the man before him. This time, sitting across from him in the hotel room, he still didn't know who he was.

Sam kept his face impassive as he set out his supplies around him. With a wet towel, he cleaned the blood from both of Dean's arms, needing to refill the ice bucket three times when the water grew too red. As gently as he could, he swiped the cheap hotel towel over the bloodied skin, trying not to scrub too hard at the blood that had dried.

He knew Dean was watching his face, but Sam kept his focus on the injuries. Fortunately, the bleeding had slowed, and he didn't think Dean was in any mortal danger.

Sam took his time, determined to be as thorough and efficient as he could. Dean's injuries were the worst Sam had ever had personal contact with - at least as far as he could remember – and, despite whatever Sam was feeling, he wanted to make sure they were properly cleaned and treated.

Besides, tending to his wounds kept Sam's mind from exploding.

He disinfected the opened skin, forcing himself to ignore the hiss of pain Dean failed to hold back. Then he dug out the suture kit and started to stitch his wounds close. It took all of his concentration, and he could only hope he was doing it right. Sweat broke out along his hairline, but he pushed through his nervousness, keeping his hand steady as he threaded the needle through Dean's skin.

Once he finished that, he went through the first aid kit again. Finding a couple of pads, he pressed one to each wound and held them in place with gauze. The entire time, his eyes never drifted up past Dean's neck.

"Will you say something?" Dean finally asked, just as Sam finished wrapping his arm.

Then Sam did look at him, lifting his head to meet Dean's eyes. He couldn't tell if Dean's face was pale from blood loss or something else, but he looked on the verge of collapsing.

"Are you really my brother?" he asked. He knew it was stupid. He would have denied it long before then if he wasn't. But Sam needed to hear the confirmation, needed to hear him actually say it.

"Yes, I am," Dean replied. His answer hung heavy between them.

"And St. Louis?" Sam asked. "I thought you killed—you died—" he stopped, frustrated. "You told me you were 25."

"That was a shapeshifter," Dean explained. "He looked like me when he died, and so that's how the police identified him." Sam didn't know what a shapeshifter was, but he figured he got the general idea. The Warrens seemed to trust him, so he had to accept that as the truth for now. "And I lied," Dean added with a shrug, answering Sam's last point.

"Well, that's not the biggest lie you've told," replied Sam harshly. He refused to acknowledge the tears that started to blur his vision.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Dean had to have expected the question, but he wasn't ready with an answer. In that bit of silence, Sam was too impatient to let it stand, and he pressed forward. "You dumped me off in Stanford, didn't you?"

"I didn't dump you—"

"So what happened? Did we get into a fight? Did you beat me up?"

"What? No!" Dean exclaimed, horrified.

"I had cuts and bruises all over," Sam argued.

Realization lit Dean's face, and he sighed. "That came from a hunt," he said. "A goatman in Boise."

Well, that wasn't the first thing Sam was expecting. "A—a goatman?" he gaped at him.

"Yeah, scientific experiment gone awry," Dean replied in a tone that said he'd repeated that phrase before.

Sam narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "So we used to hunt together?" Dean nodded tightly, and Sam wasn't sure if he should be surprised. That explained his eight month absence. He would have asked more, but instead, he clenched his jaw and swallowed.

"So why did you abandon me?" he demanded, even as his voice cracked. "Because I went crazy? You thought I'd be a burden?"

Dean's eyes flashed with alarm as he stiffened in his chair. An uneasy look came over his face, and Sam wanted to look away but couldn't. Dean cleared his throat. "You...you didn't go crazy," he told him.

Sam shifted impatiently, annoyed that he was avoiding his question. "Okay, maybe not technically, but-"

"You didn't go crazy."

That stopped him. "What do you mean?" he asked guardedly.

Then Annie's words floated back to him. For so long he had thought he was crazy that he'd stopped questioning it, but answers started to fall into place. "Something happened to me, didn't it?" he realized. "Something supernatural."

Dean looked down at the floor.

"There was this voodoo priestess down in New Orleans..."

to be continued...