Where are you?
Chapter Two
I own nothing – Kripe owns them.
He didn't know why; but he stayed by the young man's bed through the night, ringing work the next day, pretending sickness.
The young man's sleep was restless; he tossed and turned his head, hands plucking at the quilt, eye-lids flickering. Occasionally he would mumble something, a name, soft and faint, so faint that John couldn't hear it, but said with such passion that John couldn't help but wonder who this person was that upset the young man so.
Around lunchtime the man's eyes finally opened; they looked clearer, more alert and they fixed immediately on John, widening in panic "I'm sorry" it was the voice from his dreams again, harsh, scared "I'm sorry – I didn't salt and burn – I wasn't – it wasn't me" he tried to hide his large frame, burrowing into the bed, his fingers hovering around the call button "I didn't think you'd come back like this – you said – you always said the dead should stay dead"
"I'm not dead" it sounded weak, lame but John felt he had to say it, to stop the man from freaking "I don't know what you're talking about"
"Don't haunt me like this" although the man's eyes were clear, he seemed delirious "I said I was fucking sorry – it wasn't me – I didn't mean to"
John bit his lip and moved to the man's side; he lifted his hand and laid it gently on the man's warm arm. He squeezed his fingers around the muscle, his touch somehow tender, something inside of him clenched and he didn't want to see this man hurting "I'm not dead" he stated clearly "Can you feel my hand? I'm very much alive"
He hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't this. The man's eyes widened and his mouth moved soundlessly. Tears welled up and split over long lashes and then he was crying, harsh, hurting sobs that racked his body and made his whole frame shake.
John stood stock still, his hand still on the man's arm, not knowing what to do or say to prevent this meltdown. The man sobbed and sobbed, his fingers suddenly reaching out and clutching at John's hand, clasping it as if he could make it real.
Finally the weeping subsided and the man seemed to pull himself together. He sat up a little, wincing, uncomfortable "I'm sorry" he mumbled "I know you hate these chick flick moments"
"Who are you?" John swallowed, trying desperately to search his mind for a name, a memory, anything "How do you know me?"
"Dean?" the man's eyes widened a little, his hand coming up to pluck at the covers again, nervous and twitchy "You…don't know me?"
"I can't remember anything" it hurt to say it and it hurt even more to see the total devastation in the man's fathomless eyes "Nothing – my mind – it's like a black hole – has been these past eight months"
"You're Dean" the man seemed to be convincing himself as much as John "You're Dean Winchester and I'm your brother – Sam"
"Sam?" John's stomach turned and his heart flipped – he had a name – a name and a brother "I don't – it doesn't – there's nothing"
"Oh God" the young man, Sam, groaned "This is my fault – all my fault"
The monitors at the side of his bed began to beep and blip and tears were forming again. John – no Dean – he must think of himself as Dean now – found himself backing up "Look this is all a bit much for both of us – why don't I get the nurses to come and look in on you – then you can relax for a bit whilst I get my head round this – ok?"
"Dean…" Sam's eyes were wide "Yeah – yeah ok" his face was pale, sweaty and his eyes were watering "Yeah – I guess I need more drugs – the others have worked their way out of my system" he coughed, lifting a hand to his mouth "You don't remember? You don't remember anything?"
"Nothing – I'm sorry dude" he shook his head "I'm so sorry"
"No" Sam looked sicker than ever "Its me who should be sorry" he lay back on the bed "You'll come back?" it was a mournful question and John – no Dean – Dean – forced a smile "Yeah – sure – Sam – I'll be coming back"
He sat in the hospital diner watching the people walking by. His coffee was cold and his donut untouched. He had a name – Dean Winchester – like the rifle. He kept saying it, over and over, but it didn't mean anything. Why? What had happened to him?
And then there was Sam – his brother – why couldn't he remember anything about Sam? Only that voice – the voice that had haunted his dreams.
And Sam could possibly be a drug addict; an alcoholic. He could still recall the doctor's words 'Enough alcohol and cannabis in his system to floor a horse'. Is that why Sam hadn't come for him? Had he been too drunk, too drugged to know where he was, to even care.
Then there was the self blame – Sam seemed to think himself responsible for all that had happened to Dean – hell – he even thought that Dean was dead. What part had Sam played in Dean's accident? Why the hell couldn't he remember anything? He buried his head in his hands – this was so fucked up – he wished he'd never gone to that liquor store – never helped Sam – shit – he was happier living in ignorance.
Sam was calmer. He was propped up in bed, looking a little spaced out, and Dean thought that he might be slightly high – but at least it was on legal drugs this time. "Hey man" he perched on Sam's bed, his hand on the man's wrist "Looking better"
"Dean?" Sam's voice was hesitant "Would you – I mean – would you do me a favour?"
"Sure"
"Would you just – I – would you call me Sammy – just for a moment – please"
"Of course – if that's what you want – Sammy" as soon as he said it, his stomach clenched; images flickering through his mind; a wriggling soft haired baby, a toddler hands clasped in his, a sulky teenager mooching across his vision, a shaggy head leaning against the window of a car, dimpled smiles.
"Are you – did you remember something?" Sam's voice was hopeful, eyes bright
"I – yeah – I think I did" Dean's heart was pounding
"You used to call me Sammy – when we were little" Sam was smiling slightly, dimples just showing "And then when we were older – just to annoy me"
"I did?" Dean returned the smile, hesitantly "I guess you better tell me more Sammy – because I need to fill this hole where my memory used to be"
Sam stared at him and Dean could see his mind working. He ran a hand through his untidy brown hair, too long bangs falling into his eyes "Where the hell do I start?" it was more of a rhetorical question but Dean answered it anyway.
"How's about we start with how I got here? How did I end up in hospital with no memory? And why didn't you come for me?"
"I…don't ask me that" Sam's eyes were tearing again and Dean felt his heart sink "Please – anything but that"
"I need to know Sam – why didn't you come for me? Too busy drinking? Getting high?"
"Dean" Sam swallowed, adam's apple bobbing "Dean – you have to understand – it wasn't me – I…I would never hurt you – it wasn't me"
"You're not making much sense here" Dean was feeling sick, his stomach roiling
"You want to know what happened" Sam's voice was faint but calm and he sounded resigned "It was me – I picked you up and threw you into the middle of the road – I watched the car hit you – saw your head connect with the windscreen – I saw you lying in a pool of your own blood – and I walked away – I walked away and left you for dead"
TBC
