Author's Note: So, due to the overwhelmingly negative response to the last chapter and due to the own prompter's disappointment, I've decided to redo murphy9202's prompt which was "Sam gets hurt while riding a snowmobile." I'm really sorry that you didn't get what you wanted the last time. I hope this is a little bit more what you had in my mind. I promise not to do any more drabbles for this story unless they are requested. I've learned my lesson! That being said, please be specific in your prompt. If you have a certain length in mind, let me know and I will do my best to meet it! So, here's chapter 12 redone. It's set in season 5. I hope this one is better for everyone!

"Just go after him."

Dean stepped away from the cabin's window that let him see the snowy forest outside and sighed. Castiel stood in the corner and eyed him curiously, though his stoic expression was still firmly in place. The eldest Winchester sighed and ran a hand through his hair, internally debating what to do. "Dean—"

"Cas, enough." He interjected, more sharply than he had intended. Frowning, he added softly, "Sorry."

"I just do not understand," The Messenger of the Lord stated. "If you long for Sam to return, why not tell him so?"

"Because it's not that simple." Dean stated, angrily pacing the floor of the old cabin that they were staying in. It belonged to their latest client—a man convinced that the ghost of some ex-lover of his haunted the old cabin. Frankly, Dean hadn't been paying too much attention. He'd been a bit pre-occupied on the fact that he was upset with his brother. They had fought earlier—a stupid argument that soon escalated into harsh words about who was to blame for the impending apocalypse. They both had said things that they now regretted, but the hunter knew that he had said things that would take a lot more than apology to fix.

You doomed the world Sam! You went with that bitch behind my back and look what happened!

Sam had stormed out this morning after that and now it was getting close to dusk and Dean had seen neither hide nor hair of his little brother. He was worried—yeah, he could admit that—but he was unsure whether it was his place to go after Sam. After all, his little brother had gone somewhere to clear his head and for all Dean knew, he would walk through that door any second now.

Yep, any second.

"Dammit, Sam." He cursed softly.

"Shall I go after him then?" Castiel questioned, as if that was the obvious solution.

"No."

"But Dean—" The angel protested.

"He'll come back." He replied.

Dean stared out the window once more.

When he came to, he found himself pressed against a tree trunk. Behind him, the remnants of the blue were nothing more than a twisted pretzel of metal. He groaned as he tried to re-orient himself and push himself up into a sitting position. Pain radiated through every bit of him and he cursed as he finally got himself standing, though he had to clutch the tree trunk to do so. Snowflakes gracefully floated around him, some turning a sick shade of pink as they came in contact with the blood that was sluggishly seeping from his head. What had happened exactly? And more importantly, why couldn't he remember anything?

He tilted his head to the side in confusion as nothing more than the last few minutes filled his brain. Nothing enlightening appeared and he frowned. Maybe hitting his head had temporarily caused him to forget something? He searched for a name and came up with Sam.

"Sam?" He asked, sensing that this was his name though he wasn't sure. He took a step forward, relieved when his leg took the pressure without so much as a twinge of pain. Good, so the head injury was the only problem he had physically. He stopped moving when he realized he had no idea where he was. Glancing at the tracks in the snow, he saw they headed north and so he took a deep breath in and headed the opposite direction. Maybe he would remember what was going on if he could retrace his steps.

Or maybe he would freeze out here or die from shock.

Grimacing, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind and began to walk.

"Sam." Castiel mumbled and Dean's head snapped around.

"What?"

"I can't sense him." The angel explained simply. Dread settled in the pit of Dean's stomach.

"What the hell does that mean?" He exclaimed, feeling the need to punch the wall. He had done this to his brother—he had pushed him into the cold. Grabbing his jacket and slinging it around his shoulders, he braced himself for the freezing wind that would await him outside.

"Wait, Dean—!"

He opened the door and nearly collided with his younger brother.

"Sammy." He breathed, always relieved when Sam was in his sight. Immediately, he frowned as he took note of the blood that was flowing from a deep cut on Sam's forehead. Ushering his brother into the warm room of the cabin, he had him sit down on the well-worn couch. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Sam replied shakily and Dean froze.

"What do you mean?" He questioned, trying to keep his voice even.

"He can't remember anything." Castiel breathed out, face drawn in worry. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

"Yeah." His little brother confessed shakily. "I just . . ." He glanced away, embarrassed. "I saw this cabin and something told me to stop."

"But, you don't know who we are?" The eldest Winchester whispered, wishing it wasn't true, but knowing even before his brother's conformation that it was.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, as if getting amnesia was somehow his fault.

"What do you remember?" Castiel interrogated, shooting a glance at Dean as if to check to see how he was doing.

"Waking up in the snow." Came the answer and Dean felt a mix of anger and fear rush over him. Anger, because why the hell did all this awful crap have to happen to Sam and fear because who knew if they could get Sam to recover his memories.

"Cas, can you—?" But Castiel was already moving forward, placing two fingers on Sam's forehead. He shut his eyes and a white light flashed through the room. When it subsided, Sam's injuries were healed and Dean held his breath. "Sam? Do you remember—?"

"No." He frowned and Dean grimaced.

"I apologize," Castiel said stiffly. "My powers grow weaker by the day."

"So . . ." Sam began, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Who are you?"

"Dean," He answered promptly. "I'm your older brother."

"And he is . . . ?" He gestured vaguely to Cas.

"A long story." The eldest Winchester replied with a sigh.

And with that, he launched into the story of their messed up lives.

"So, let me get this straight," Sam began, as he paced the wooden floor of the cabin. "He's an angel and we hunt things like ghosts and other stuff like that?" A sharp nod from Dean and Sam sighed, letting that sink in. "And I started the apocalypse?"

"Technically, Dean did." Castiel replied from the back of the room. Dean shot him a glare.

"But still, I did all this stupid stuff and now the world is going to end? Because of me?" He appeared so panicked stricken that Dean was almost tempted to lie. Still, he didn't have it in his heart to do that to Sam, not after what they had been through.

"Not just because of you." Dean interjected.

"This is all so fucked up!" Sam exclaimed, voice dripping with rage. Dean huffed out a laugh.

"Story of our lives."

"But I can't remember any of it!" Sam exclaimed angrily. He carded a hand through his hair and sat down. "I mean, I barely know my own name and now I find that I'm the reason that the world is ending? Hell, Dean, this is too much."

"Sam," Castiel spoke up. "Your memories will return—"

"And what if they don't?" The youngest Winchester challenged. "What then, huh?"

"We'll figure something out." Dean assured him, utilizing the same calming tone that had always soothed a toddler Sammy.

"I wish I could believe—" His brother sat down, head in his hands, appearing totally dejected.

"Then, believe me, Sammy," He interjected passionately. "You need to trust me, okay?" Sam nodded and Dean sat back on the couch, eyes watching his little brother intently, waiting for that "Ah-ha" moment.

It didn't come.

"Maybe . . ?" Castiel murmured and the elder hunter met the angel's gaze.

"What, Cas?"

"I could try something," He shifted uncomfortably. "Though the risk is great and I am unsure if it will be successful given my current state."

"Do it." Sam whispered.

"What are the risks—?" Dean spoke over him.

"I don't care!" His little brother shouted. Then, summoning those puppy dog eyes he was famous for, he stepped towards the angel. "Please. Whatever it is, do it." Castiel nodded and motioned for Sam to sit on the couch. Then, he placed two fingers on both of Sam's temples. Blinding white light filled the dimly lit room and when it faded, Sam had listed to the side.

He was unconscious.

"Shit, Sam!" Dean exclaimed, but Castiel's strong arm pulled him back.

"Wait a moment."

Dean did and Sam's eyes re-opened. His little brother pushed himself up and glanced around the room, as if he was unsure of his surroundings. Then, his eyes finally rested on Dean, who held his breath in anticipation. Sam quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head to the side in slight confusion.

"Dean? Something wrong?" Sam—his Sam—asked.

Dean beamed.

"Welcome back, Sammy."

Sam appeared even more confused and at his expression, Dean couldn't help but laugh. He would apologize for yelling at Sam later, when they didn't have an angelic audience. He would explain how Sam had lost his memory too.

But for right now—for this one moment in time—being near Sam was all that he needed.

It was all that he had ever needed.

Author's Note: Better, everyone? While I still stand by the drabble, I do like how this came out. Anyways, I hope your earlier disappointment has faded after reading this. Again, I'm sorry! I won't do anymore drabbles here again. Please review and request if you have a second!