Chapter Twenty-Four

Sam was expecting there to be a honeymoon period where Dean and Cas were so caught up in each other and their new life together that they didn't think to call him. He was okay with that; god knows they deserved some alone time after the emotional rollercoaster they had been on over the past few months.

When his phone rang, he assumed it was a hunter on a case who needed his help.

He was surprised to see Dean's name on the screen.

"Dean?"

"Sammy." He sounded dreadful.

Sam was immediately concerned. "Dean? What's wrong?"

"Sam. S-Sam-" His breath was coming in searing gasps; he couldn't get the words out.

"Dean, you're having a panic attack. I need you to focus on breathing. In and out. Come on, man. In an out, nice and easy, just take it slow."

He could hear that Dean was trying but he wasn't having much success.

"Dean, I'm on my way." He grabbed his keys and ran for the stairs, calculating how long the trip would take if he floored it. Too damn long. "Where's Cas? He's closer than I am, I can call him for you, you just have to keep breathing until he gets there."

"C-can't."

"Dean, you have to try. I need to hang up to call him-"

"No! Sam, you don't- he's-"

Sam froze. "Did something happen to Cas?"

"Y- Sam, he's- gone, Sammy, he's gone-"

"Gone where?" Sam asked urgently.

"I don't- I can't remember-"

"You can't remember? Dean, do you know where you are? Who you are?"

"H-home. Retired- hunter."

Sam exhaled. He didn't know what he would have done if Dean had lost his memory again. "Okay, did you hit your head? Or get really drunk last night?"

"One beer."

Sam almost laughed. If Dean downed an entire bottle of vodka or tequila, he might stand half a chance of becoming inebriated. A beer was nothing. "Since when are you a light-weight?"

"It was drugged."

Shit. Fucking shit. Sam broke into a dead sprint. "Dean, you need to go to the doors and lock them, right now. Close the blinds. Find your gun and don't let anyone in unless it's me, okay?" He slammed his car door closed and gunned the engine. "I'll be there as soon as I can-"

"Too late, Sammy. Got what he wanted."

"What does that mean? Who got what he wanted? Dean-"

"I don't know! I don't remember! But he's got Cas, oh God, he drugged us and he took Cas-"

"Who did? Dean, talk to me!"

"I don't- I can't-" He started hyperventilating again; if he didn't get the oxygen he needed he was going to pass out.

Sam slammed his foot down on the accelerator. "Dean, it's okay, just breathe. I'm coming."

"S-Sam-"

Sam snapped. "Dean! You have to get this under control! Cas is in trouble and you're not going to be any help to him if you're unconscious. Pull yourself together!"

Dean gasped in a desperate breath and started coughing.

Sam struggled to speak calmly. "That's it, Dean. Keep breathing. In and out. You're okay. We'll fix this. I'm on my way. We'll get Cas back. Together, alright?"

Dean's breathing was still shaky, but he stammered out an uncertain, "Alright."

"I'm going to stay on the line with you until I get there. Keep breathing for me, Dean, you're doing great."

Sam put the call on speaker and stuck his phone to the dash, trying to focus on driving even as thoughts and fears ricocheted around his brain. If this was the same thing that had abducted Dean, Sam had zero confidence that they would be able to find it; he had already been trying for almost a year. Cas could turn up in seven months with his memories gone just like Dean had, or maybe this time all they would find would be his body lying in a ditch somewhere, tortured and broken. If that happened, it would utterly destroy Dean, and Sam would lose both of them.

"Sam?" Dean asked. His voice was quiet, his breathing calmer, but Sam knew he was far from okay.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm right here."

There was a long pause before he said anything. "I know I'm supposed to be a badass hunter. I mean, we've faced down demons and gods and the Devil himself. I never gave any of those bastards an inch. But… I'm scared, Sammy."

Me, too, Sam admitted silently. "I'm almost there. We'll talk this through and work it out."

Dean sighed. "Right. We can do this. It's what we do."

"Exactly."

After a while Sam heard his brother get up and start pacing the room. He was antsy; Sam could understand that.

"You should try to eat something."

"No food in the house."

"I could pick something up for you."

"Don't bother. I wouldn't be able to keep it down anyway."

"The drugs still messing with your system?"

"Could be. My head feels less fuzzy now, but my stomach is all twisted up. Of course, I tend to puke my guts out whenever I have a panic attack, so that might have something to do with it."

Sam closed his eyes for a second. "God, Dean." He didn't realise he had said it out loud until Dean replied,

"I know. I'm a mess."

Sam was veering into the opposite lane; he swerved to avoid a truck and a horn blared angrily at him.

"I didn't mean-"

"It's true, though. I should be out there right now looking for Cas, and instead I'm crying to you over the phone."

"You're waiting for back-up. It's the smart move when we don't know what we're dealing with."

"I do know."

Sam's grip tightened on the steering wheel. "You do?"

"I should. It's in my head somewhere. I lived it, Sam. Whatever happened, whoever did this – everything we need to know is buried in my subconscious."

Sam swallowed. "You forgot for a reason. I don't know if we should be knocking on that door, Dean."

"If I don't remember, the same damn thing is going to happen to Cas."

"We'll find another way."

"Sam, how long have you been looking for this thing? This is our only shot and you know it."

"Dean…"

"You can't protect me from this anymore. I can't keep running. I have to face what happened."

"It could break you, Dean," Sam said bluntly.

"You survived the wall in your head breaking, and that was 100 years of Hell damage."

"I ended up in a mental hospital."

"Yeah, well, if it means you get a lead on Cas, it's worth it."

"Dean-"

"You can't change my mind. I need to remember, and you're going to help me."

Sam knew that once Dean got it into his head to do something there was no stopping him. "Okay, well at least wait until I get there."

"Cas doesn't have that kind of time. Tell me what happened, Sam, in as much detail as you can. Something has to jog my memory."

This was a bad idea. Sam tried to coax more speed out of the engine.

"Sam."

"Okay. Fine. It was a Thursday. We had just finished up a hunt in Oregon that had dragged on for two weeks and we were all dead tired. You did the last leg of the drive, surviving off a gallon of coffee, so you didn't have a chance of falling asleep yet. I went to have a shower while you rustled up some grub and Cas stayed up to keep you company. When I turned off the tap I heard the two of you yelling at each other."

"Why?" He sounded tense.

Sam hedged. "It was a stupid fight, Dean, you were both exhausted."

"Details, Sam, or I'll never remember."

"From what I could gather, you had been – making those sounds you make sometimes, when you're eating. Cas asked you to chew quietly, and when you didn't he said that the food didn't even taste that good. You accused him of never offering to cook and being-"

"-an ungrateful bastard."

"Yeah," Sam confirmed reluctantly. "It deteriorated after that. Eventually you stormed out, saying you needed some air, and Cas muttered something about 'air' being a new euphemism for 'alcohol'. You slammed the door. You didn't come home that night, and we just assumed you were holed up in a motel. When you still hadn't turned up by the next afternoon, I went looking for you. I found the Impala in the parking lot outside a local bar."

"Billy's," Dean said quietly.

"Yeah. The owner said you got real drunk real fast, and that he offered to call you a cab. When he came back to tell you one was on its way, you were already gone."

"That's it?"

"We checked the camera footage, but the bar was dark and the images were too grainy to see much. But you were stumbling drunk, leaning heavily on a man with a thick beard and a dark-coloured hoodie who helped to drag you out the door. No one had ever seen him before, no one could remember what he looked like aside from the beard, he didn't say enough for the owner to pick up any sort of accent, and no one saw what car he was driving."

"He drugged me."

"That was my guess; you don't get drunk that easily. But there was nothing else to go on. We never stopped searching for you, Dean, but there was no sign, not even so much as a whisper of where you were or who had taken you. I'm sorry."

"He was smart. He had been planning this a long time. Wanted revenge."

"For what?"

There was a heavy pause. "I don't know."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

"He had white sneakers. Didn't like getting blood on them. Always scrubbed them clean."

"What about his face? His eyes? How tall was he?"

"I don't know."

"Dean, you must have seen his face."

"No."

"But-"

"I wasn't allowed! If I ever looked up at him he would – he would – oh god."

"Dean?"

There was no answer.

"Dean!"

A strangled sound came through the speaker, and then the line went dead.

The phone was out of battery.

"Dammit!" Sam was coming up on the town and there was an increase in traffic but he threw all caution to the wind, breaking every possible road law in his headlong rush to reach his brother.

When he reached the house, Sam slammed the car into park and leapt out. He crashed through the front door. "DEAN!"

ooOOoo