Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.

Author's Note: This chapter is really disjointed... but I like the basic idea of it and I wanted to get you all an update before I went to bed since I've updated the rest of my stories. Hopefully you'll enjoy it!!

Author's Note 2: I'm back, officially!! You can throw wild parties in my honor, if you so wish. NaNoWriMo (aka, the month of insanity) is over and yes, by the way, I did win the contest. If you wish to read the story that took up all my time and all the updates go to www. thejournal5. webs. com (take out the spaces). It's entitled the Fourth Reich.

Author's Note 3: Hopefully I haven't driven you all away with my lack of updates. I do really appreciate the reviews and support you've given me and I hope you will continue to do so in the future.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter of You Found Me.

You Found Me

Chapter 6

The weeks began to creep by slowly as Sam gradually healed and regained his strength. Before long, he was able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time and sit up by himself. Walking was still out of the question, because of both his injured leg and ribs. That was fine by him, though, because there was no where else he really wanted to go.

Dean didn't leave Sam's side once during the month and a half the youngest Winchester was couch ridden, except to use the bathroom and take the occasional shower. Bobby had been in and out of the living room, always hovering near the edge. Sam had refused to meet the older hunter's eye once.

As the physical injuries began to heal, Sam attempted to deal with the memories, or lack there of. It frustrated him to no end that he couldn't remember anything, including the terrifying nightmares that plagued him while he slept. On more than one occasion, Dean had asked what they were about, but Sam couldn't tell him. All he remembered was calling Dean's name and intense pain.

One evening, about seven weeks after Dean had found Sam, Sam woke up from a particularly horrifying nightmare alone. Dean was nowhere in sight and that was a bad thing. Sam didn't remember any of the specifics of the nightmare, but he did remember knowing that Dean wasn't there and that was why it was horrifying.

"Samuel."

Sam nearly fell off the couch when he heard the calm, even voice and turned toward it. His pulse, which was already racing, went into overdrive when he saw the all too familiar unfriendly angel standing there with a neutral expression on his face.

"Zachariah," Sam said pushing himself further up on the couch cushions. He fought back a groan when he moved his injured leg—it still hurt like Hell.

"You look considerably better than the last time I saw you," the angel said in his usual bland tone of voice.

Sam was confused. Granted his memory wasn't the best at the moment, but he didn't recall Dean saying that Zachariah had stopped by. And Sam was fairly certain he'd remember that. Dean hated Zachariah.

"You look considerably more alive than I expected after what Dean told me what you did," Sam retorted.

"You better watch your mouth around me, boy," Zachariah said. "I have been generous in letting you live. Don't do anything to screw that up because I will destroy you without a second thought."

"Good luck," Sam said genially. "I mean, if Lucifer couldn't kill me--."

He was cut off suddenly by a huge, invisible clog in his throat, cutting off his ability to breathe.

"Do not get cocky," Zachariah said. He flicked his hand and suddenly Sam could breathe again. He did so in huge, gasping breaths.

"Now listen to me," the angel continued. "A battle is coming and it is coming fast. Our side needs Dean and the information you gained while Lucifer held you prisoner. It could be crucial to winning this war."

"The war you started because you thought you could control it," Sam muttered. He instantly regretted his inability to keep his big mouth shut when he found himself lacking in oxygen again.

"I won't kill you because that would be pointless right now," Zachariah said. "But know this—the second you become more trouble than you're worth, you will be dead. I will kill you myself."

"I've heard that threat before," Sam said boldly the moment he could breathe again. "And I'm still around. I don't scare that easily. Besides, you might as well kill me now because I don't remember a thing about what happened to me."

"You're lying," Zachariah said. "You remember everything. You just don't realize it."

Before Sam could make a sarcastic comment about self-righteous douche bags thinking that they knew everything, Zachariah disappeared and in his place stood Dean, who was carrying a large brown paper bag and munching on what looked like a hotdog.

"Hungry?" Dean asked through the mouthful of hotdog.

Sam shook his head, his thoughts straying to what had just happened. He wondered absently if it had been a dream or if it had really happened. If it had happened, what was with the crack about remembering everything? Sam sure as hell didn't remember anything.

"Sammy?" Dean prompted setting the brown paper bag down on Bobby's coffee table.

"I'm fine," Sam said blinking and mentally shaking his head.

"Dude, I know you," Dean said. "You're like an open book. What's wrong?"

"I—it's nothing," Sam said. "Really, Dean, it's just that—I can't remember anything about what happened to me. Anything. Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"No," Dean said bluntly. Sam stared at him. "No, Sam. I don't. If your injuries are anything to go by, I am not surprised that you're blocking this out. I—it was—if I could, I would block out Hell for the rest of my life. Block out what happened to me down there. You've been given a free pass on this one, Sam."

"I don't want a free pass, Dean," Sam said stubbornly. "I want to remember. Everyone needs me to remember."

"Who exactly is this 'everyone', Sam?" Dean demanded angrily.

"So you don't want me to remember?" Sam countered his voice rising.

The last few months, the last year really, was suddenly right there in the tense, silent stand-off going on between the two brothers. Everything, from the lies they both told each other (I am not using my powers, Dean. It was your dying wish that I didn't) and themselves (I'm doing the right thing) to the heartbreaking ends (you walk out that door, you never come back) was right there.

Dean looked away first, not wanting to argue with Sam while the younger Winchester was hurting. Sam didn't want to argue with his brother either, but was too stubborn to back down.

"I'm not sure if I can answer that question," Dean murmured honestly.

Sam crossed his arms across his chest but didn't say anything. He didn't even know why he was spoiling for a fight. He didn't want to get into a pissing contest with Dean, not so soon after the older Winchester had forgiven him for everything.

"Zachariah came by," he said eventually when the silence borded on awkward.

Dean looked pissed.

"And you didn't mention it?" he demanded.

"I just did," Sam said childishly.

Dean gave Sam an annoyed glare.

"What did the dick want?" he asked in the tone of voice he reserved for talking to angels or about them.

"The usual. End of the world, me dead, Lucifer dead, you know. Angel crap. He did say something interesting though," Sam muttered.

"Oh?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Said something about me being able to remember, just not wanting to," he said quietly. "You know that's not true, though. I want to remember."

"And I don't understand why," Dean growled.

Sam had heard this argument more than once over the past few weeks. He understood where Dean was coming from, but Sam needed to remember. He felt as though a vital part of him was missing because he couldn't remember. He had explained that to Dean, numerous times, but the older Winchester had just shook his head and grumbled something that sounded distinctly like idjit.

"He said something else too," Sam said. "Something more important."

Dean's eyebrow went higher as he waited for Sam to continue.

"Zachariah said there was a war coming," he said.

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed that," Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Seriously Sam, I know that you had a concussion and all because of what happened to you, but are you mentally ill? That is like the world's biggest gimme ever. We let Lucifer walk free and you don't think there's a war coming? Honestly! I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

"I'm the one that consorts with demons, remember?" Sam snapped. "And that wasn't all he said. Said something about me holding you back and that my not being able to remember was keeping you from fighting the damn battle."

"Well that's a new one," Dean muttered. "Me, holding you back. Huh. I always thought it was the other way around."

Sam winced, but not because of physical pain. He never meant those words he had told Dean while under the siren's influence. He knew that he wouldn't have been anything at all if it hadn't been for Dean. Hell, he wouldn't have even been alive if it wasn't for Dean.

"You know that's not true," Sam said softly.

"Do I? Maybe I do," Dean said with a shrug. "Maybe I don't. Point is, even if you were keeping me from fighting in this war, which you totally are by the way, what makes you think that I want to be in this without you?"

Sam, who had been staring at his knees, snapped his head up to look at Dean in shock.

"Do you mean that?"

"Yeah. You're my brother, Sam. Even with all the crap you've pulled lately, you're still my brother. And as chick-flickey as this sounds, I know for a fact that I can't seem to do anything right without you around. So, screw-ups and all, you're stuck with me."