Where Are You

Chapter 4

They arrived at the junkyard in the early hours of the morning and Dean wondered what the hell they were doing in a place like this. The whole yard was full of broken cars, rubber tyres and twisted pieces of metal that were totally unrecognisable. There were two large rottweillers tied up in the yard and both started barking loudly and insistently as the Impala pulled up into the driveway. Dean cut the engine and stared over at Sam in the passenger seat, his heart contracting as he saw the state of the man next to him.

Sam was asleep, his face so thin and pale, he looked insubstantial, ethereal, not dangerous or insane, just plain sick. His hair was greasy, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Dean let a hand creep out and touch Sam's face gently, running his fingers over high cheekbones "Hey" he whispered "We're here"

He had followed Sam's directions to the letter and, strangely, towards the end of their long journey the route had become more and more familiar to him. Had he travelled this road before? How often? And what was the significance of this place? His head hurt and there was still a black hole where his memory had once been, but at least he wasn't alone anymore, for good or bad, he had Sam and there was something inside of him, some strange, unknown emotion that wanted to keep Sam by him, that wanted to keep him protected and safe.

Sam's eyes flickered open and he stared at Dean, his eye lids half-mast, his mouth moving soundlessly. "Yeah" he sat up, gingerly, his limbs stiff and cramped "Good driving Dean" he rubbed a hand across his hands "There's some things you never forget"

Sam knocked the door of the house once, hard, firm. Dean heard the sound of chains and bolts being unfastened and the door was opened, slowly, carefully. A face peered out and Dean caught a flash of metal which he assumed was a gun. A hoarse but not unfriendly voice said "Sam? Dean? Good to see you – come on in"

The man was small but stocky, a baseball cap covering greasy greying hair, a beard covering most of his lower lip and chin. He wore denim from head to toe and his boots looked old and in need of replacing. He lowered his gun and stared at both of them, brown eyes flickering from Dean to Sam and back again. He shook his head "You look like shit" he said "Do you want a beer?"

Dean followed him into the house, his eyes taking in the dark interior. It was sparsely furnished, with bookshelves on every wall, covered in books. Strange pictures hung from the wall and, when he looked upwards, eyes squinting, he saw the weird but evocative illustration that someone had carved into the ceiling, a five sided star with pictures of, what looked like, devils and angels, odd symbols and images that Dean could only gape at "I'll take that beer now" he croaked "But Sammy here will settle for coffee – ok Sam?"

"Yeah – ok" Sam slumped down into one of the chairs, his long legs stretching out. His hands were shaking again and he was staring at Dean like he was willing him to remember – willing him to recognise something, anything "Dean – this is Bobby – Bobby Singer – one of our dad's oldest friends"

"Good to see ya Dean" Bobby passed the beer to Dean and watched, strangely tense, as he swallowed it down. There was a moment's pause and Bobby smiled, teeth flashing through the beard "Real good". He handed the coffee to Sam – who sipped it gratefully – eyes closing for a moment "You too Sam" a hand paused briefly and squeezed Sam's shoulder "I'm glad you've come back to us – I was worried – thought we'd lost you for good this time"

"Yeah – well – you nearly did" Sam was staring at the beer in Dean's hand and he rubbed his fingers across his face "Is she here yet?"

"Nah – tomorrow – late" Bobby pushed the baseball cap back from his eyes "I've got a room ready for you – you look like you need to sleep"

"Thanks" Dean finished his beer "But – Bobby – I…I've come here for answers – those things – those things Sam told me – I mean – it's insane – all of it"

"Yeah sounds that way don't it?" Bobby crouched down by Sam's side "But your brother is telling the truth Dean – every little bit of it" he sighed "Makes no sense I know – but when Missouri gets here – things might become clearer"

"Missouri?" Dean frowned – the name seemed oddly familiar to him

"A psychic Dean" Sam's voice was shaky "She might be able to help you – you know – to regain some of your memories" he bit his lip to stop the quavering from being obvious "That's what you want – isn't it?"

"Of course" Dean stared up again at the ceiling. He looked at the bizarre object in front of him and there was a flash again – images rolling across his eyes like a slow moving film.

A blonde woman, writhing, blood, flashes of a strange language, Sam, black eyes, the scent of burning flesh, pain in his shoulder, Sam staring at him lost and afraid, a promise, a gun. He drew in a sharp breath "You – we were here before and you – you were – you had black eyes" he could feel his body trembling and he reached for another beer, swallowing it down "Sammy" the name came out easily and he crossed the room, kneeling down by his brother "Sammy – what the fuck is going on with me?"

"You – you are remembering Dean" Sam's eyes were hopeful, watery again "It – the memories – they are going to be painful – it's not easy Dean – no one said it was going to be easy"

"Shit" Dean laid his head on Sam's knee and felt long fingers curl across his scalp. His brother clung on to him, his touch gentle but fierce "Help me Sam – I need you to help me"

"You know I will Dean" Sam's voice was firm – strong and his hands kept stroking – holding Dean's head as if it were a lifeline in a rough sea "We go together Dean – we always have – we always will – we go together"

And Dean had to cling to that and hope it was enough.

TBC