A/N It will become clearer in the next chapter but this story is set in season 2.
"Shit." He heard Dean over his own heaving and then there were hands on him, manhandling him around. "Just let it out, it's okay, I'll clean her up later. It's okay, Sammy."
The babbling was comforting and so was the hand on his forehead, holding him. After the first wave he was only bringing up bile and not long after that he was dry heaving because his body didn't seem to realize that there was nothing more to throw up.
"You done?" Dean wiped his mouth gently with something wet and then eased him back into the seat until his head rested on the back. He managed a nod but had to swallow against the bile he could still taste in the back of his throat.
"Just sit here for a moment." The hand brushed his sweaty hair out of his face but then it was gone and he heard a door open. "I'll get somebody. Be right back."
He wanted to protest, didn't want to let the other one go, didn't want to be alone, but before he could even open his mouth, the door closed and he was alone in the car. He didn't even need to open his eyes to know that. The only constant thing he had left in his life was gone.
Apparently head trauma were the magic words around here because moments later there were too many people around him. Somebody put a brace around his neck and then they helped him over to a gurney.
"Dean?" He tried to ask but wasn't sure if he really said the word. His brother was lost somewhere behind all those people in white. A woman appeared in his line of view but before he could make out her features she blinded him with a pen light. He tried to close his eyes against the sudden brightness but she held his eye open.
"Dean?" He mumbled again but this time he was pretty sure the word got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.
There were tiles over him, a ceiling, and they were moving fast. Voices shouted and everything after that was a blur.
They did stuff to him, with him, but he couldn't tell what they were doing. The woman who had shone a light in his eyes stayed with him most of the time and when her face wasn't just a blurred blob he could tell that she was smiling at him whenever their eyes met. A mechanic but still reassuring smile. He'd rather like to see Dean but his brother was gone.
"Mr. Anderson?" She asked but that name didn't mean anything to him. There was something about the name, he remembered that from the car, right before everything became hectic, but he couldn't make sense out of it.
"Mr. Anderson, can you hear me?" She asked again and he locked eyes with her. She talked to him but everything was happening too fast to comprehend and Sam couldn't focus enough to give her the answers she wanted. He didn't know when he was born or what date it was but when he opened his mouth to tell her that, the heaving started again. Not that there was anything left to throw up but he had to swallow rapidly against the saliva pooling in the back of his throat.
"Turn him to his side." The woman, probably a doctor, caught on to what was happening and they turned him to his side and he didn't feel like choking anymore. Which was good. With a sigh he closed his eyes.
He couldn't tell how he ended up in a hospital bed again but when he came to it was almost like a deja vu.
"Sam?" There was the voice again. This time he recognized it from earlier. There was still nothing from before his first waking up in a hospital bed, that was the first thing he checked, but he did recognize that voice and everything felt better with that.
"Dean?" He mumbled and turned his head in that direction.
"You know who I am?" The excitement was clearly in his voice and Sam felt almost bad to crush it.
"From earlier." He said and blinked his eyes open. "Still nothing before that, sorry."
"Don't be." Dean was closer now, standing at the side of his bed. "You scared me, little brother." He put a hand on Sam's shoulder as if he needed to make sure that he was really there.
"Sorry." He repeated. He took a moment to take stock of his body. The pain in his head had subdued to a dull ache he could ignore and the rest of his body was blissfully numb. "They gave me something for the pain?"
"And something for the nausea." Satisfied Dean sat down in his chair again. "You puked all over me in the car." There was no heat in that accusation so Sam allowed the smile on his lips to show.
"How bad is it?" Except for the memory loss he felt kinda good. But with the strong pain medication in his system it was hard to tell what condition he was in.
"Really bad concussion." Dean let out a sigh. "So far no bleeding in your brain but they want to have a close eye on you for at least 24 hours. That's why you're hooked up to that thing." He made a gesture at something behind him and Sam turned his head to have a look.
He hadn't notice the soft beeping and the wires attaching him to the machine before. For a moment he watched his own heart beat, it seemed normal to him but he wasn't a doctor. At least not that he knew. Maybe he was.
That brought back other memories. At the moment there was not much he did remember so the few bits he had where right on top of his mind.
"They have any idea when I'll get my memory back?" He asked the more harmless question first.
"They don't know." Dean rubbed his face. "You weren't of much help earlier so they want to do more tests once you're awake. But the doc was talking about a side effect of the concussion and that your memory can come back any moment now."
Sam lay back and closed his eyes to that. He knew that Dean was giving him the optimistic version here. He was pretty sure that the doctor couldn't really tell and her true answer probably had been more along the line of "We have to wait and see.".
"They did tell me that I should consider pressing charges against the other hospital for just slapping a brace on your arm and letting you go like this." He chuckled to himself but it sounded forced. "I'm sorry, I thought it was just a mild concussion, you know, something we can deal with ourselves …" His voice trailed off and Sam blinked his eyes open at that. Dean looked haggard.
"Why did we have to leave?" He asked. He still didn't feel like he could deal with something complex, exhaustion was already pulling him under, but he needed to know. He needed to know if he could trust Dean. Deep down in his guts he knew he could trust him with his life but his head was telling him that he didn't know this man.
"We kinda left a mess behind." Dean leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, but he didn't break eye contact with Sam. "They were about to ask questions we couldn't answer."
"That's not cryptic at all." Sam breathed out a laugh and fought against his dropping eyelids.
"I know." Dean gave him a little smile. "But I doubt you can stay awake long enough for the full version. I know how this must look like but we are the good guys here. You are a good guy."
With those words in his ear he drifted off to sleep.
He woke to voices next to him.
"Dean?" He fought his way to consciousness and smacked his dry lips. Immediately there was a straw poking at his lips.
"Small sips." Dean told him. The water tasted delicious and he drank greedily.
"Mr. Anderson?" Another voice spoke up and a woman stepped around the bed to his other side. He let go of the straw and focused on her. He'd seen her before but he couldn't remember the name.
"Please, Doc." Dean spoke up. "Call him Sam. Mr. Anderson is our father."
"If that's alright with you?" She asked him and Sam nodded. By now he was used to Sam, the other name just felt weird. And if he recalled correctly Anderson wasn't really his last name. Dean had told him his real one but he couldn't remember it at the moment and why they needed to use a fake name he wasn't sure either. Something about insurance? He rubbed his temple against the spiking headache. He shouldn't think too hard right now.
He blinked at the doctor still standing at his side with a watchful eye on him.
"I'm Doctor Marshal." She introduced herself. "How do you feel, Sam?"
"Good." He said but then thought about the question for a moment. "A bit of a headache."
He didn't feel great but not really bad either. He was still on the good stuff, that much he could tell.
"I'm going to check your pupils now." She announced and took out a pen light. Sam sighed but cooperated. "Okay, that looks good."
Had it not looked good before, he wondered but before he could ask that question, she continued to speak: "How about the nausea?"
"I'm good." At least that was completely gone. But so was his memory and that was the important thing here. "Why can't I remember?"
"Mr. Anderson …" She paused with a soft little smile. "Sam, you have what we call a mild traumatic brain injury." She let the words sink in for a moment.
"Mild's good, right?" Dean spoke up with clear hope in his voice but Sam was more stuck on the brain injury part.
"It's the medical term for what's commonly known as a concussion." She explained. "Amnesia can be one of the symptoms. Sam, what do you remember?"
"Leaving the other hospital." He answered truthfully. He probably should tell her that Dean had busted him out, that he basically had been abducted but for some reason he kept his mouth shut on that and played along. For now. Until Dean had a chance to explain himself. He didn't know why but he felt like he owed the other man that much. "It's kinda fuzzy but I remember Dean helping me into the car."
"So you can form new memories." She wrote something on the chart in her hand. "That's good."
"I can't remember anything before that. I don't know who I am or who he is." He pointed at Dean who looked hurt at those words. "I only know that he's my brother because he told me so."
She made another note. "I've scheduled you for a few tests today, that should give us a clearer picture."
"But he's going to get his memories back, right?" Dean asked. His hand had found Sam's – or was it the other way around? – and now they were just holding on to each other.
"In most cases it comes back, given time." She answered rather vaguely and with that she left. A nurse would take Sam to his tests in a bit.
"Awesome." Dean slumped back into his chair. "Most cases, what kind of an answer is that?"
Sam had to agree with him, most cases held the bitter aftertaste of sometimes not.