Okay, okay, call off the dogs! (Well, now I know how to get some of you to review - threaten ya'll with Batman!! LOL!!) Suffering from technical difficulties, namely that I seemed to have left my brain with my laptop - at work. Fortunately there was a copy of this chapter in my email. I promised I wouldn't wait too long!! Hotshow was able to proof the first part of this chapter, but I didn't hear back from her on the rest today, so if it sucks it's my fault.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Dean's breathing stopped. Just flat-out stopped. He could not even remember why breathing might be necessary. He was not one for praying, but he prayed now. No, God, don't do this. Please, please don't do this.

"Sam?" Bobby peered over the edge of Sam's bed. "What did you say?" His voice was real soft, so Bobby must have heard it too.

"Batman," Sam repeated. Then he frowned, rubbing that spot between his eyes where all the skin wrinkled up. "It's okay, Bobby. I don't think I need it, I was just wondering."

It was like watching a really bad train wreck. You didn't want to look, but you couldn't tear your eyes away. Dean wanted to know what Bobby thought, but at the same time, if anyone else thought the same thing, then it might be true. And he really did not want that.

He tried to ask the question, the one question that would tell them if this was Sam or Sammy, but that pesky problem of breathing got in the way. If he wasn't breathing, he wasn't able to talk either.

"Sam," Bobby said, clearing his throat. He was obviously just as worried as Dean, because he got up from the floor to go look Sam right in the face. "Uh, this may sound like a stupid question…"

Dean closed his eyes, hoping and praying, yes damn it praying! Praying for the right answer.

"…but, how old is Dean?"

His eyes flew open to study his brother. Sam's face fell into a deep scowl. "That's it. I'm buying both of you a frigging calendar."

The ancient air in his chest exploded in a louder laugh than was called for, and it took several moments for his breathing to come back under his control. Bobby sat on the edge of Sam's bed, laughing with Dean, while Sam looked on bewildered.

"Uh, somebody mind letting me in on the little joke?" Sam asked like he was talking to a couple of escapees from the mental ward.

Dean shook his head, amazed that he was not incapacitated with pain. "Dude, if you ever scare me like that again, I'm kicking your ass."

Sam shifted around, settling deeper into the thin hospital pillows. "I don't get it," he finally said. He looked between Bobby and Dean, full puppy dog eyes. "How did I scare you?" He rubbed at his neck. "The last thing I remember is following a noise out in the yard. Dean cut the engine on the crane…" Sam's face screwed up with concentration. After a moment he shrugged, his face returning to its usual calm expression. "So what happened?"

"The gremlin," Bobby answered simply. Sam shot him a dirty look, giving Dean no end of joy.

"It decided to drop a few tons of cars on your head," Dean added, unable to wipe the big grin off his face. "I'm going to buy you a helmet."

Sam snorted. "At least you're in a good mood. God, my head is killing me."

Dean caught Bobby's eye, nodded subtly toward the door. Bobby gave him a nod. "Back in a minute, boys."

"So what are you doing over there?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean in bed. "That doesn't look like a hospital gown."

That was enough to wipe away his grin. "No, it's not," he replied firmly. "I'm just here to keep the gremlin away from you tonight."

"Who pulled me out of the cars?" Sam asked.

Puzzled, Dean stared back for a while before asking, "What does that matter?"

"It matters, Dean." Sam blew out a long sigh. "You did, didn't you?" Dean refused to answer, not understanding where this might be heading. "I thought so. I guess you didn't let George examine you either."

Since it was not a question, Dean figured he didn't have to answer.

"Sam!" Doc Wayne strode into the room with Bobby on his heels. "It's good to see you awake. How's the head?" Doc pulled out a penlight to check Sam's eyes. This was better, all the attention focused on Sam. Dean let his legs hang off the side of the bed, watching.

"Feels like something is trying to bust its way out," Sam replied, wincing when Doc's hand strayed too close to that lump.

"That'll pass. Now, do you feel up to a few questions?" Doc watched him expectantly. Sam shrugged. "Good." He pulled out a small notepad. Apparently the good doctor did his homework and was ready to go.

"First of all, how old is Dean?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, man, what is with this fixation on Dean's age? Unless I missed a birthday, he's twenty-eight." He cast a worried look at Dean. "Right?"

Dean grinned and nodded. Yes! It was definitely Sam!

"Good, good," Doc Wayne said, scribbling down something. "Now, how old are you?"

"Twenty-four. Are there any questions with some kind of point to them?" Sam demanded.

Dean held in the chuckle threatening to escape.

"How do you feel about clowns?"

Sam's eyes widened. His head snapped to the side to glare to Dean. "Dean! What have you been telling him?"

Dean spread his hands, helpless. "Honest, Sam, I didn't."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, red seeping into his cheeks.

"Sam," Doc Wayne sat on the edge of the bed, patting Sam's lower leg in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner. Sam turned his glare on the good doctor instead. Doc Wayne yanked his hand back as if he'd been burned. He cleared his throat. "I don't suppose you remember our cafeteria downstairs?"

Sam's face blanked for a moment. "Sure. Crappy food. Typical. Except it has…" His mouth fell open. "Oh, crap," he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. "Dean," he said through his fingers, "please tell me I didn't have a full meltdown in the cafeteria because of clowns."

Doc Wayne's face lit up. "Sam? How about nasty ER nurses who refused to let your brother go in the backroom with you?"

Sam's fingers parted enough to look at Doc Wayne, then he doubled over, hiding his head between his knees. "No, no, no." His head shook from side to side.

"Doc," Dean whispered. He pushed himself over the side of the bed onto his feet. "Give us a minute?"

Doc Wayne reached over towards Dean's shoulder, seemed to rethink it and grabbed him by the upper arm instead. After a gentle squeeze, the good doctor headed out the door. With a tilt of his head, he asked Bobby to wait just outside too.

Now that they had a reasonable amount of privacy, Dean rested a hand on Sam's back. His brother trembled just under his touch. "Sammy?" he asked gently. "Dude, whatever it is, it's okay."

Sam mumbled something Dean couldn't make out. "What?"

Sam lifted his head, eyes red. "Dean," he hissed, fresh tears cascading down his cheeks, "please tell me it was just a nightmare. Please!"

Dean shrugged. "Okay, it was a nightmare."

"Don't do that!" Sam snarled at him. Jeez, he was easier to understand when he thought he was five. "That's not what I meant!"

"So what did you mean? I'm not a mind reader here, dude." Dean leaned against Sam's bed, leaving his hand in place.

Sam took several deep breaths. "You and Bobby really weren't kidding about the regressive amnesia."

"The weirdo amnesia? No." Dean searched Sam's face for a clue. "Why?"

"I kinda thought…" Sam took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I guess I hoped, you two were exaggerating a little."

"Sammy…" Dean started to chastise, his hand automatically rubbing in small, comforting circles.

Sam shook his head. "Come on Dean, you would, you know it. Anything to embarrass me." Sam wiped the tears from his cheeks, his face still reflecting his shock. "But this time…" Wide, wet eyes turned on Dean and he felt himself cave. If Sam asked him for the Impala right now…well, this was no time to get absurd. "This time, you downplayed it. Didn't you? I really did freak out in the ER and the cafeteria." His nose scrunched up like he smelled something nasty. "And I really do hate that Catwoman bitch."

Dean could not help the laugh, but he wanted it to be with Sam not at him. "You and me both, little brother. I loved the way you shot her down when she came out to Bobby's." Dean tried to imitate his brother's voice. "Lady, I don't even have to ask for permission to drive the car." He laughed lightly, shaking Sam by the shoulder. "Oh, I wish I'd taken a picture of her face."

A smile cracked across Sam's face. "Yeah. It's probably a good thing I didn't remember her, huh? Really made her look like a crackpot."

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Last time I checked up on her, she was still trying to get her license to practice back."

"When was that?" Sam asked. "Before we left?"

Dean shook his head, figuring he'd better own up now. "Last week."

Sam's eyebrows shot up, hidden by his bangs. Dean shrugged. "I like to keep tabs on the bitch."

"And?" Sam prompted.

Damn, his brother really did know him well. "And maybe I send her flowers sometimes. She's allergic to almost everything."

Sam laughed a little. "How do you sign the card?"

"The last one? I think it was R. Quincy," Dean informed him with a smile.

Sam smiled. "Want to pick someone from Grey's next time?"

Dean scowled, shaking his head. "Dude, you know I hate that show." He snagged a couple of tissues from the bedside, handed them over to Sam.

When Sam's face was dry and his brother seemed a little more in control, Dean asked, "You ready now?"

Sam's eyes darted to the closed door. He nodded, though it felt reluctant. Dean squeezed his shoulder briefly before heading for the door. He winked at Sam as he stood with his hand on the knob. Dean yanked it open forcibly, exposing Bobby leaning into where the door once was and Doc Wayne standing right beside him.

"Gentlemen?" Dean swept a hand into the room. "Care to join the party?"

Bobby's cheeks flushed deep enough red to match his vest. He cleared his throat and stood up. "Just, ah, checking the lock."

Dean drummed his fingers against the doorframe. "It's a hospital, Bobby. Patient doors don't have locks."

Bobby nodded. "Right. That's what I was checking. No lock." A hand waved by the door as Bobby whisked back into the room.

Dean gave Doc Wayne a questioning look, but that man could be a champion poker player with a face like that. Dean made a mental note not to play cards with Doc, unless he wanted a challenge. Bobby motioned Dean over to the other bed, probably to cover up the fact Dean just busted him eavesdropping. He grinned, leaning against the bed on his good side.

"I do have George's number," Doc Wayne whispered near Dean's ear.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "Danner," he said, naming Doc Wayne's mother's maiden name.

"What?" Doc Wayne asked, a puzzled expression finally crossing that stoic face.

"Danner," Dean repeated. "Appleton, Wisconsin," he named the Doc's birthplace. "I've got more." He waggled his eyebrows at the Doc.

Doc Wayne cleared his throat, giving Dean a strange look. "Sam?" He focused his attention back where it belonged, on Sam. "How bad is that headache? Need something for it? I can order something we can inject right into your I.V."

Sam squinted up at the doctor, probably weighing his options.

"Give it to him," Dean ordered. "It hurts to look at him like this."

"Fine," Doc Wayne replied. "Sam, I need you to stay overnight, just for observation. But I must say, I'm really encouraged by the fact you're starting to remember events from your amnesia."

"Great," Sam mumbled. "Glad somebody is encouraged. I want to crawl under a rock."

Dean chuckled, purposefully loud enough for Sam to hear. "Anything else, Doc?" he hinted for the doctor to leave.

"No, but you can call the nurses and I know Dean has my number." He smiled broadly. "I'll be back to check on you after I finish my rounds, Sam."

Sam lifted a lazy hand in the air and waved it without looking. Dean figured his little brother might be trying to deny his new memories. Well, hell, if that's what Sam wanted to do, that was fine with him. Except…

"Sam? Do I need to go on clown patrol before the doc leaves?" Dean asked, beaming.

Sam groaned again, rolling away to face the wall. Bobby grunted, shaking his head. Yeah, this could be loads of fun.