AN: I never said it earlier, but I don't own the boys or the Impala or the angel or anything else you recognized from the show; I mostly just gaze covetously from afar. And I don't make any many off my little stories. Unfortunately.
Though he kept the gun pointed at him firmly in his awareness, Dean primarily looked at his brother's eyes. He'd been reading them for over 30 years, after all. Despite the low light, he could see that there wasn't so much as an ounce of recognition there. There was confusion, hesitation, and more disorientation than there should have been from the elbow Dean had thrown at him. "You okay, Sammy?" he asked automatically.
"Well, someone hit me in the head," responded Sam instantly, with just the right level of bitchiness to almost, almost make Dean smile.
"No, I mean – "
"What did you do to him?" Sam indicated Robin without moving his stare from Dean. The bird / man / thing in question had been wailing like a banshee and demanding someone take the iron off!
"Spelled iron cuffs. Cuts off magic and a lot of supes can't handle iron."
"Supes…" Sam trailed off and left that alone with a disbelieving shake of his head. "No, I mean before that. What kind of technology or…whatever made him look like a bird?"
Still, neither brother had lowered his weapon or so much as looked at the hysterical Robin. "No technology. Just a simple spell to reveal glamors and crap."
"You're – you're batshit, dude." Sam was good at hiding weakness, except to Dean, he was transparent. He saw the faint signs that Sam was in pain and struggling to keep his eyes open. And again, Dean knew that it was something more than just the bump on the head. "Look, Dean, is it? Just go. I'll wait half an hour to call the police. If you unlock my brother's cuffs before your leave, I'll wait an hour. Nobody has to get hurt here."
"You know, what? You're right. Nobody has to get hurt." Dean took his finger off the trigger and tipped the gun he was holding up, ejecting the magazine. "I'll leave, and I'll even leave the keys for Robin. As long as you come with me. Just for a little while." He flashed a grin. "I'll answer those questions that are bugging you, like why you're still not shooting me or calling the cops or paying attention to your so-called brother. About what you saw a couple minutes ago. About why part of you thinks you're home and part of you feels out of place." Dean hadn't forgotten that it was Sam who had sensed that something wasn't right when the angels had made them believe that they were corporate stooges. And it was Sam who'd had to fight hallucinations and determine what was real. He had to believe some part of Sam was fighting whatever enchantment bird brain had put on him.
Sam's eyes pinched like he was fighting a headache, but he didn't immediately lower his gun. Instead, in a slick move, he slid seamlessly from he knees to a crouch so he could back a few steps away. His eggs might be a bit scrambled right now, but his self-preservation was in good order.
"I'm not going anywhere with you." Sam rose slowly to his feet, so Dean stood too. Robin had fallen mostly silent, standing with his back to wall and muttering under his breath.
"Fine," agreed Dean easily. He held out Sam's gun so the butt faced his brother. "Can I have my gun back?"
Sam ejected the magazine, and Dean started to feel like he could breathe again. Sam looked at the proffered weapon and gave an ironic half smile. "Yeah. Just…drop it." He knew better than to get close again. Working on about Plan N by now, Dean dropped it, and Sam tossed Dean his gun.
Dean turned slowly toward the door, then in a quick move, slapped in his extra magazine and shot Robin four times. Sam cried out, and his humanitarian instincts overcame his hunting instincts for a moment. He rushed toward Robin, and stopped dead just in front of him, realizing that the bullets were on the ground of there was no bleeding. For his part, Robin just looked annoyed. Horror and shock on his face, Sam began to back away from his so-called brother, but he was just a little too slow.
Robin hadn't been idle. Despite the iron, he must have been able to access some of his power, and when Sam was in range, he slapped both palms onto Sam's chest. Sam made a choked noise and dropped straight down.
Dean dove for his brother, and just managed to prevent him from cracking his head against the floor. He hastily pulled him back out of Robin's reach, but the latter was pale and shaky from the energy expenditure. And he was laughing like a maniac. "You'll never get him back, not completely," he cackled. And he didn't stop laughing until Dean found the second set of iron manacles, locked them around Robin's wrists, and locked him in the trunk.
Then he screamed, "You can't do this to me! I'm Robin MacNaBreanna!"
The entire time, Sam didn't wake.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Sam didn't want to wake up, but there was a crick in his neck that he couldn't ignore any longer. And his head hurt ten times more than his neck. Or maybe a thousand times more, he thought as he labored to convince his reluctant eyes to open. He tried to rub his eyes and found his hands were as stuck as his lids. He stirred, trying to make sense of everything, trying to wake up the rest of the way. Then he realized that someone was talking.
"…stupid bird man thingie is going to beat us. Not after the devil and Michael and everything else we've been through. I mean, we've been upstairs and downstairs, ya know, Sammy? That didn't break us apart. I don't know what this dick is thinking. Let's leave him in the trunk for a few days. Unless…you don't think I'll find everything covered in bird sh – hey, are you awake, Sammy?"
Sam finally opened his eyes and lifted his head, squinting at headlights met his eyes. They went past and it occurred to him that he'd been hearing a car engine underscoring the strange, one-sided conversation. They were moving, and he'd been leaning against the door. And…he tried to pull up his hands again, to discover he was handcuffed to the door.
"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. I didn't know what you'd remember or how out of it you'd be and I really didn't want you punching me or anything while I was driving."
"Punching…?" Sam looked at the man next to him, confusion and pain clouding his mind. He was a rugged guy, someone who had seen a lot. "Why would I…um, who are you? Are you a cop?" A flash of emotion flickered over the man's face too fast for Sam to identify. "Am I in trouble?"
"No, man. I'm here to help." And for some reason Sam believed that. "I'm Dean. Do you remember what happened back at the house?"
"N-no. I was working on my latest, uh, work project, and that's it. Listen." Sam went to pinch the bridge of his nose before remembering the cuffs and aborting the movement. "Listen, just call my brother. I need him – he can help whatever this is."
A muscle jumped in the driver's jaw and Sam wondered what was making the guy upset. His face didn't show much, but Sam found him easy to read nonetheless. "Your brother will be there. I promise. Look, we've got a ways to go and you look like you have a headache. Why don't you just close your eyes again until we get there?"
Sam didn't answer. The situation was beyond surreal. He was in a car with an oddly solicitous stranger, handcuffed to the door, unable to remember how he got there. The pain behind his eyes was making it difficult to focus, and trying to remember anything seemed to make it worse. Despite his companion's rough appearance, Sam was inclined to trust him, which also struck him as odd. And how had he known Sam's head hurt? "Can I – can I just call Robin?" Sam finally asked, clearing his throat.
"Robin's waiting for us. Just relax. Less than an hour, okay?" Dean glanced at the cuffs, but didn't offer to remove them. Instead, he turned on the radio, and Sam understood the conversation was over. He didn't intend to fall back to sleep, not next to some stranger, but exhaustion tugged at him, and he didn't even realize when he sagged back into the window into oblivion.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
If he weren't in such a hurry to get his ailing brother back home, Dean would have seriously considered pulling over, hauling Robin out of the trunk, and kicking him around for a while. He wished he could pretend this was some ordinary road trip with Sam sacked out in the passenger seat. But while he could ignore the handcuffs (and pretend he didn't remember the sleepy confusion on Sam's face when he'd discovered them), he could not ignore the lines of pain and stress that sleep hadn't totally smoothed out. He was surprised but pleased that Sam did go to sleep; Dean had been protective of Sam's sleep since hallucination-fueled insomnia had almost killed him years ago. Dean was certain the elbow to the head hadn't prompted it. There was something else going on here. Something that was making Sam forget, and it was hurting Sam in other ways.
There might be a hint of guilt for hitting his brother, but they'd been down that road plenty of times. And Sam, non-amnesiac Sam anyway, wouldn't hold it against Dean, he was sure. But what was gutting him right now was hearing those simple words, "Just call my brother. I need him." Simple. Correct. Except Sam wasn't referring to Dean. He didn't remember Dean. Again.
"Sonofabitch," breathed Dean under his breath.