With Cas going to work, it being clear that he would have much rather stayed at Dean's side at all times, Sam was the first to enter the hospital the next day. It was around ten am – Dean had always liked to sleep in a little, and perhaps wanted to take a nap after the session with Doctor Moseley, so that Sam had set his alarm later than yesterday.
He had known that Dean would be allowed to get up for the first time since the accident, and had expected him, if awake, to bounce all over his room and perhaps the small garden by the time he arrived.
He hadn't expected to find him still in his corridor, comforting a little girl.
In fluent Spanish.
Sam had taken a few courses in his freshman year, but he doubted that he could have conversed with the child as quickly and efficiently as Dean, who was wiping away the last few tears that had escaped her eyes and speaking in soft, friendly tones.
By the time he was done, she was smiling again and Sam stepped up to them.
Dean smiled at him and stood up.
"Hey, Sammy".
"Hi," he answered, still a little confused.
Dean made a perfect impression of a gallant bow and said to the little girl, "Señorita, Le presento a mi hermano".
She giggled and curtsied and Sam had to hide his grin at how cute she was.
She said something to him, but it was too fast for him to understand.
Dean had no such problems and answered in kind, laughing, before turning to him.
"Mercedes said you are as big as the building she lives in. She and her parents are on a holiday, and her father got into a car accident – nothing serious, but she got upset and ran right out of his room and into me. I told her mother I'd look after her".
Sam smiled. It was like his brother to help the child in need. Although he certainly had had no idea how well he could speak Spanish. He'd been aware that Dean understood some of it, after all he was an avid watcher of Spanish soap operas; but he could easily hold a conversation and apparently understood everything Mercedes was saying, even though she continued to chatter despite him talking to Sam.
He had always known his brother was intelligent. He was starting to think even he had underestimated him.
Mercedes' mother came to collect her, all smiles and thankfulness and a thick Spanish accent, and they left with the girl excitedly waving and shouting goodbye.
Dean smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Not that I mind, but I was actually on my way to the garden. I need air".
They made their way to the small park in the middle of the hospital.
"Gotta tell you, it was a bit freaky," Dean admitted. "She ran out of the room, screaming something in Spanish, and I understood her, so I tried talking and it worked."
Sam hadn't know Dean was fluent in Spanish, either, so he couldn't really answer; but he nodded and it seemed to be enough for his brother, whose face lit up when they walked into the sunshine.
Dean sank on a bench, closing his eyes and happily breathing in the fresh air.
Sam studied him. Ever since he had woken up, Dean had, in a sense, been more relaxed than he could remember; of course not when he was contemplating his amnesia, trying to will his memories back into existence or being confronted with someone he felt he should recognize, but when he allowed himself to just be, to just talk and listen for the moment, there was none of the usual tension he had carried around with him since he was four.
Losing a memory meant losing experience, meant losing everything this experience had turned one into; and while Dean was still Dean, a good, friendly man who cared more about those around him than his own well-being, Sam could see the difference. His Dean was seldom truly happy and relaxed, always worrying about the garage, whether his little brother was safe at Stanford, if Dad had gone to another bar. This one didn't know he had ever thought like that. He didn't know that his unhealthy obsession to take care of his family had left precious little time for himself, had reduced him to a small figure in the background of his own life.
He had often wished his brother would be a bit more selfish, that he would do what he wanted instead of following orders and firmly believing that he didn't deserve better.
He still hoped he could impress him with a better self-image, more confidence to oppose their father and stop hanging around him like a mother-hen whenever he came to visit.
Not that he didn't appreciate his brother looking out for him. He just wanted to make him see that he had to look out for himself, too.
"I'll admit I look good, but I am your brother, you know," Dean commented, opening one eye and squinting at him.
Sam laughed.
"I'm just – relieved, that's all. How did the session go?"
Dean shrugged and opened both his eyes, sitting up.
"She's alright. And I'm doing okay. I mean, I'm not having any big freak-outs or anything, and the doctor said I might be allowed to go home tomorrow..."
"That's great!" Sam exclaimed. When Dean looked down on the floor, twiddling his fingers, he realized his brother was scared.
Normally, Dean would hide it, would say something cocky and grin, but he didn't know that this was what he had been trained to do from an early age, and he openly showed how nervous he was.
"Dean?"
"I get that seeing my apartment and stuff will probably help. But what if I don't remember? What if I never do? You want me to, I know, and I'm trying, and everyone's going on about how I shouldn't stress myself – "
"Because you shouldn't. We'll take it one step at a time". When Dean still looked sceptical, Sam continued. "I mean it. We'll see what happens and deal with it. We always have".
Dean smiled.
"I guess we're a good team," he remarked, and Sam was once more reminded that the man in front of him lacked all those experiences that made him dear to him.
Dean's phone chimed. Sam didn't even have to ask. His face lit up as he read the text and he turned to him to say, "Apparently one of his students is convinced that there are certain subliminal messages in Paradise Lost."
"What messages?"
"Judging by the text, I'd say those that one finds after a few joints," he answered and shook his head.
"He'll come by later."
His smile dropped and he frowned at the phone. Sam wondered what could have prompted that reaction. His question was answered when Dean began, "Me and Cas – we didn't use to date or anything, did we?"
"No," he said, surprised.
"It's – " Dean blushed and looked down. "The pictures and stuff."
Dean had finally realized that he and Cas were acting like a couple at all times. Under normal circumstances, Sam would have rejoiced.
"You are very close. You always have been," he said simply, hoping that Dean would remember this conversation later and see it for the sign that it was, rather than dismiss it as "he's like a brother to me", which was all Sam had gotten when he'd tried to allude to the subject once, years ago.
"He's hot," Dean suddenly blurted out, then clamped his mouth shut when he'd realized what he had said.
"I mean – apparently I'm bisexual," he then tried to save himself instead of deflecting and Sam was impressed.
Trying to appear nonchalant, he replied, "I know", hoping that Dean wouldn't kill him when he remembered. Even if Dean had been honest with himself about his sexuality, he would have been uncomfortable telling Sam.
"Did I – " Dean stopped again and laughed. "God, I'm about to ask my younger brother about my sex life. That's so uncomfortable".
It was, Sam couldn't help but agree. Yet Dean had a right to know.
"You do find men attractive, but you've never been in a relationship with one" he said. He was aware of what he was doing – implying that Dean had had sexual encounters with men when he had always been very careful to keep his macho persona – and that it would surely lead to complications once his brother returned; but he was tired. Tired of Dean hiding who he was, tired of watching him trying to please someone who never would be, tired of him living only on the edge of the happy life he could lead if he only allowed himself to.
"You had two serious relationships with women. Cassie and Lisa, but..." he paused, not sure how to describe it, but Dean understood.
"Crashed and burned, I presume?"
Sam nodded. For now, Dean didn't need to know that Cassie left because she couldn't bear being with someone who would work in a garage for the rest of his life or that Lisa had gotten pregnant after a drunk one night stand during one of their relationship breaks and had moved away even when Dean had offered to raise the child with her. Sam knew that she hadn't wanted to weigh him down with the responsibility and respected her for it, but he'd still been devastated.
"Yeah, well, I guess that's not too bad. Everyone's got history when they're thirty."
Sam wondered if he should bring up Dean's one night stands, but he really didn't want to discuss this subject.
Especially since Dean, whether he realized or not, had more than once glanced at Cas' text while Sam had talked about his relationships.
"There you are, you idjits," a voice interrupted his musings.
Dean grinned.
"Bobby! Didn't you say something about work and phones?"
"Yeah, decided I felt more comfortable when I can make sure you aren't doing anything stupid."
"I'm at a hospital".
"And who's to say you are resting?"
Sam watched the back and forth between Bobby and Dean with a smile on his face. He'd suspected that the older man wouldn't be satisfied with occasional texts during the day.
Bobby was as delighted as they were when he heard that Dean would be released on the next day.
"Wait until you're in front of a car. Bet it all comes rushing back then".
It was likely, Sam thought. Fixing cars had always come as naturally to Dean as breathing.
Dean shrugged but smiled, and his phone chimed again.
Bobby didn't even have to ask, just shared an amused glance with Sam.
The older man had to leave soon afterwards – so he had hastened over simply to see that Dean was fine – and it was time for lunch anyway. Dean decided to eat in the cafeteria with Sam.
And surprised him again. He took one look at the menu and decided on the pasta, ignoring the cheese burgers being prominently displayed (and Sam couldn't help but wonder who thought it would be a good idea to offer them in the hospital).
Dean was apparently eager to try anything he could get his hands on, and it wasn't like he hadn't liked pasta before, so Sam said nothing.
Cas kept texting during the day before eventually visiting around four– obviously relieved that his colleagues had insisted that he finally leave the office because he was climbing the walls, although he didn't express it that way.
"Hey, Cas".
"Dean," he said and rushed to his side, and Sam wondered if they knew how obvious they were.
Dean was all smiles, happy to leave tomorrow, if still anxious that his apartment and shop wouldn't help him regain his memories.
Sam tried to act more optimistic than he felt. He wanted to be sure that his brother would remember, but he couldn't be.
Dad made an appearance that evening, still uncomfortable and waiting for Dean to jump up and tell him that he'd open the shop tomorrow, but at least he made the effort to talk to him.
They finally said good night shortly before nine, Dean making them promise that they'd be there to pick him up first thing in the morning.
"As if we'd forget," Sam said, since it was obvious his brother expected Cas to be there as well.
"Just wanted to make sure. Ready to blow this joint".
They left, and while Dad didn't even linger to say goodbye, Cas and Sam slowly made their way to their cars.
"Did you know Dean's fluent in Spanish?" Sam asked suddenly.
Cas threw him a puzzled glance. "He loves watching Pasión de gavilanes. I was aware that he'd picked up quite a lot, certainly enough to check Spanish websites for spoilers".
He paused for a moment, and Sam let sink in the fact that he hadn't know that his brother had learned a language by watching people cry on television before Cas continued, "He's also been interested in a French sci-fi show for some time now. He's already learned to say a few things in French".
"Why didn't I know?" Sam said bitterly. "All this time, he's been calling me and I've only ever been talking about myself. I'd no idea he likes French television".
"You know how he is," Cas said simply. "He doesn't consider himself important or interesting enough to talk about himself. And he probably thinks that he doesn't speak Spanish well at all".
"You should have heard him with that little girl". Dean had told Cas about her the moment he had set foot in his room. "I could barely make out a word she was saying – she was talking way too fast for me. But Dean understood everything. And he answered her with no problems at all".
"It is nothing new that Dean underestimates himself,f" Cas carefully answered, and Sam thought of how he'd avoided to speak to their father.
Cas could at least dislike him with the least amount of guilt, he decided, feeling ashamed of himself.
"I don't think he does now," he said, unable to convey his feelings.
Cas understood. He smiled.
"Perhaps he'll learn a lesson," he replied. "This might be a blessing in disguise, after all".
Cas, of course, only thought about Dean's self-esteem, about the life he'd been trained to live. Sam thought about his brother and Cas.
It was clear that Dean had a crush on Cas – or rather, that without his memories, his unconscious feelings were coming to the surface. His question of whether he and Cas had ever been dating proved such.
Sam had never thought he would hear his brother come out as bisexual – and in a completely calm manner, as well. He hadn't worried about Sam being angry, or his manly image; he had simply stated a fact, firmly believing that his brother wouldn't judge him.
He hoped that Dean would remember this, would see that it was no big deal and that he could be happy with Cas at his side once he recovered.
They would cross that bridge when they came to it, though, he reflected as he drove to Dean's apartment. First, they would bring him home tomorrow.
Dean woke up excited. He would finally leave and see his apartment and shop, and the other places where he spent his life.
He knew he shouldn't expect to remember immediately. Missouri reminded him of that when she visited him barely ten minutes after he'd gotten up, apparently being able to tell when he was awake at a distance.
It was starting to creep him out a little, to be honest, but he was still thankful when she carefully explained to him once more that he shouldn't stress himself, that he should first and foremost learn to cope in the new environment (he snorted at the irony, but she shot him an icy glare and he stopped) and that she'd see him first thing Monday morning.
It was Thursday, so she probably wanted to see how a weekend living the life he didn't remember affected him.
He was ready to see for himself, to be honest. Sam and Cas and even Bobby had told him about his apartment and the garage, as well as the older man's salvage yard, but he couldn't picture them in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
He would no longer have to rely on his imagination.
Sam had brought him the clothes he was wearing yesterday, as well as a duffle bag in which he quickly packed his tooth brush and other clothes before he sat down to wait.
Cas woke up at six am and was unable to go back to sleep. It was pathetic, but he couldn't wait to get Dean out of the hospital and hopefully see his eyes light up with recognition once he was in his usual environment.
It was time he remembered. Cas was no idiot; he had noticed that Dean seemed to like his company very much indeed and that there had been a strange expression on his face yesterday when he'd looked at their pictures.
He didn't want Dean to believe something that wasn't true. He didn't want Dean to think that he could have feelings for Cas when he never would.
But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was reading too much into it because he desperately wished that Dean could feel this way about him.
He sighed and made coffee, waiting for the time to pass.
An hour later, Sam knocked on his door, excited and hopeful. Cas would have argued caution if he hadn't known that at best it would lead to him being worried and tense when they arrived, and he didn't want Dean to see him like that right at the moment he could go home. He shouldn't stress himself and try to force his memory.
They were not surprised to find Dean waiting for them, nor at Doctors Moseley and Dansley showing up to see them off, both cautioning him not to overexert himself.
Dean rolled his eyes, but Sam and Cas shot each other looks that indicated they would make sure he took care of himself.
He all but ran out of the hospital, Sam and Cas following, before he stood still in the parking lot and a look of pain crossed his face.
Cas moved towards him, but he'd already started walking to the Impala. At first he was surprised, but then he remembered that he'd told Dean about his car.
For a moment, Dean had almost panicked. In his haste to get out, he had forgotten (oh, the irony) that he had no idea where he was going; and suddenly finding himself surrounded by cars that could all have been the one he was looking for had been overwhelming. But then he'd remembered his and Cas' conversation about his "Baby", spotted an Impala, and simply begun walking. There couldn't be many Impalas around.
"At least he still knows his cars," Cas supplied, and Sam snorted.
"The day Dean doesn't automatically gravitate towards Baby is the last day on earth".
He agreed silently and they joined Dean, who was looking over the car in a professional and yet distant way that made Cas feel strangely uncomfortable.
"She's well taken care of," Dean said, and Cas was unable to tell whether he was using the pronoun because of their talk or out of some subconscious response to the car he had paid so much attention to.
"You'd never allow her to fall into disrepair," Sam answered, and Cas nodded.
Dean gently touched the Impala's hood, trying to feel any kind of connection, trace a memory that had to do with fixing it, but nothing came. According to his friends, it meant a lot to him, but it was only a car in his eyes, beautiful, yes, and excellently restored, but nothing else.
Frustrated, he turned around.
"Let's go home".
He ignored the disappointed look his brother tried to hide and opened the door on the passenger side. He briefly considered driving, but he didn't know how to get to his apartment and even though he seemed to be able to do stuff he'd learned before, he didn't want to risk an accident.
He closed the door with slightly more force than was strictly necessary, which Cas and Sam thankfully ignored.
Sam drove, with Cas in the backseat. The silence was deafening, but Dean couldn't think of anything to say.
"Don't you have any music?" he asked, irritated, and immediately Cas answered, "Your cassette tapes are in the glove box".
Sure enough, Dean pulled it open and found a collection of cassette tapes. Had his old self never heard of downloads?
He had no idea if he even liked any of the bands. He knew who they were, of course – he was growing used to knowing things without remembering learning them.
Out of impulse, he chose a Led Zeppelin tape. At the first chords of "Ramble on," Sam laughed.
"Should have known. They always were your favourite band".
"Do I like anything from this century, too?" he inquired. "I mean the music, the car – "
Sam shot him a look he couldn't interpret before replying, "You do like soap operas".
Dean groaned and decided to wait and see his apartment before he asked more questions.
He soon found that while he wasn't exactly disappointed per se, he had expected more.
Or not exactly more, but –
He didn't know what he had expected, really, but it wasn't this.
The apartment wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. He had a couch and a TV and a few books and the pictures Cas had brought him.
But other than that, the whole apartment seemed strangely empty. He couldn't tell what kind of person lived here, and he'd hoped that, at the very least, he would be able to find out something about himself. But nope; all he could say was that he apparently liked action movies.
He turned and looked at Sam's expectant face. His expression fell when he took in Dean's.
"Sorry," Dean began to apologize, but he shook his head.
"Don't stress yourself. You're supposed to take it all in slowly".
Cas was a comforting warmth at his side, and he turned his head to smile at his friend. Cas smiled back.
These were not butterflies, Dean told himself. This was difficult enough without developing a crush on his best friend.
He'd lost count of how many times he'd told himself that in the past few days.
"It's not bad" he finally said, less because he actually believed it, and more because he felt he had to comment somehow.
He didn't continue, to explain that he thought a few plants might make the place look more cheerful, and that there should be at least one more book case. He hadn't read anything since he'd woken up, being too busy trying to sort out this whole mess, but he had the feeling that he liked to read.
He also had the feeling that he liked more personalized apartments and nicer couches, and it was really confusing to realize that apparently he didn't.
He still didn't know anything about himself, when it came down to it. He knew funny stories about a guy named Dean who was apparently pretty cool and an awesome brother, and that was it.
He forced himself to calm down and take slow, long breaths. This was what Doctor Moseley had warned him about. The last thing he wanted was some kind of breakdown, especially with his family there to freak out.
"Dean?"
Cas' hand on his arm steadied him, and he gave them a pained smile.
"Sorry. I guess I expected it would all come back but..."
"We'll have to wait," Cas replied evenly. "You've only seen the living room".
He was right, Dean told himself. Relax. He had to relax. If he stressed himself, the freaky block in his mind or whatever that was keeping him from accessing his memories would probably grow stronger.
So he nodded and they began exploring. Not that there was much to explore; but still, the apartment wasn't extremely small, and he even had a guest room for when Sam came over to visit.
He distinctly remembered Cas mentioning his father's house and wondered why they simply didn't stay there then.
He decided not to ask in favour of looking at the kitchen.
Alright, if the pristine state of it was anything to go by, he was probably a germ freak; but he certainly didn't feel like one, so he maybe just liked his kitchen a lot. And it was nice enough with its pale yellow walls and the sunlight filtering through the windows.
All in all, the whole apartment was good enough. It just didn't feel much like him.
At least he had a coffee machine, and he quickly offered to make them all coffee. Luckily, there were enough cream and sugar packets in his drawers.
Seeing his apartment had certainly not abated his sudden taste for sugared coffee, Sam observed, but he wasn't overwhelmed or scared, and he took it as a plus even when he was a little disappointed that he had shown no signs of recognizing his own place.
They had to be patient, he knew. But it was difficult when Dean was casually dropping one more spoonful of sugar in his coffee, having tasted it after one and still declaring it too bitter.
Cas, with his typical calm attitude, hadn't even twitched. They were sitting close, so close that now and then their thighs had to brush, but neither gave it away.
Sam considered using an excuse to leave them alone, but knowing them, nothing would happen, so he might as well stay.
After they had coffee, Dean asked, "Can we go to my shop?"
He really wanted to spend a little more time in his apartment, but he also really wanted to see his garage, and he'd sleep here tonight anyway. He was curious about this place that apparently meant a lot to him.
"Of course," Sam replied evenly. Before, Dean had always had trouble to say "my garage", mainly because Dad kept coming over and checking to make sure everything was in order. He hadn't had any contact with him outside of the hospital, so he had no idea if he'd hung around there in the last few days as well.
Or if he was there now.
It shouldn't matter, of course, and Sam chose not to care. Dad had barely spent time with Dean anyway; if he happened to be in their way, it was his own fault.
Dean tried to remember the way, but found that he had no idea where they were going. He knew he lived in Lawrence, Kansas because he had been told so; but it seemed like any other town he had seen on TV, like a town was supposed to look. There were no familiar sights on this drive he took at least twice a day, five days a week.
It was more than disconcerting, but he had to keep calm. He didn't want to go back to hospital because he'd had a freak out.
They stopped in front of the garage and Dean tried to hide his surprise at how old and run-down the building was. He hadn't expected his shop to be big and imposing, but he'd hoped for something that didn't look like it could collapse any minute.
No wonder that drawer had fallen on him.
Was he really that bad of a business man? If so, why was he still in business to begin with?
Sam saw the dismay on his brother's face and cursed himself for not having prepared him more. Not only had he chosen to only tell him good stuff, but he had also allowed himself to be mislead by the knowledge he had of Dean – he would never have reacted to the shop as he did now, because of the memories he associated with it.
Memories that were gone.
He was an idiot.
Once again, it was Cas who came to his rescue.
"Your father is very attached to the shop," he said softly. "You decided not to change anything because you didn't want to distress him".
It was a white lie at best – Dean would never even have considered changing anything – but it worked and Dean wouldn't be too angry once he remembered, Sam hoped.
When they walked towards the door, they found a sign stuck in the window.
Closed until further notice due to an accident.
It was printed out, but it wasn't difficult to recognize the tense, no-nonsense style.
Sam was incredibly thankful to Bobby. He hadn't even spared the shop one thought. He had no idea if Dean had been working on any car at the time of his accident, whether or not customers were waiting; neither had Cas said a word about it. It was just like Bobby to take care of everything and stay silent, never expecting thanks.
It couldn't have been Dad because he would have wanted it open – Sam wouldn't put it past him to attempt to open it himself.
He had Dean's keys, of course, had carried them around with him since he'd moved into his apartment after the accident. He was giving his brother time, however; it was clear that he was trying to remember, trying to see something more than an old building that looked like it would be torn down sooner rather than later.
He wasn't going to disturb his thoughts, and his eyes found Cas'. He could read the same worry in them that he felt.
Dean was confused. He certainly had imagined his business to look somewhat different, but at least someone had gone to the trouble of putting up a sign. His money was on Bobby or Dad, since neither Cas nor Sam had mentioned anything.
He desperately attempted to find anything in the crumbling facade that would spark a memory, but there was nothing and he was getting a headache, as well as feeling his chest compression again, so he simply said, "Time to go in, I suppose".
He had underestimated, no, he had never really paid a thought to, his reaction upon seeing the drawer that was responsible for all this mess to begin with.
It was lying in the middle of the room; he supposed it had been moved by the rescue drivers and simply left there.
He had cuts and bruises all over him, so he shouldn't be surprised at the blood he found, but somehow he was.
The drawer looked big and heavy.
If he'd been a little less lucky he would be dead.
He felt queasy and of course Sam and Cas were at his side immediately, holding him up. He made no attempt to shake them off, instead concentrating on his breathing as Doctor Moseley had told him and calming himself down.
When he felt alright again, he took a step back and smiled.
"It's alright".
"Are you sure? We can – "
"It's just a stupid drawer. I'll be fine". He looked at it once more to convince himself that he could.
"Ugly, isn't it? Gonna throw that out".
Sam nodded, perhaps a little too excitedly, but since he had grown used to his brother acting like a bouncy puppy whenever he was happy about something, he didn't mind.
He turned his head and slowly took in the rest of the room.
Tools were hanging around, there was an old desk – well, to be honest, everything looked old except for the tools. He supposed he hadn't been able to find an excuse not to displace them.
He was irritated, angry at himself. What was he thinking, spending his life in such a dump? And why had Sam and Cas told him he could do no wrong, basically, when he was incapable of modernizing a dangerous work-space? He'd almost died, for crying out loud!
His chest felt compressed and he sat down on the one chair he hoped would not break.
"Dean?"
He ignored Sam's question and took his pain medication out of the pocket he'd carefully stowed it in before they left the apartment. He had been told to take one every few hours, and that he could take up to three extra pills a day if he felt the need; and right now he definitely felt the need.
Before he could ask, a glass of water was pushed into his hand, Cas' gaze patient and sympathetic. He smiled at him gratefully and swallowed the pill, leaning back in the chair.
"Just my chest," he said. "Be alright once the pill kicks in."
Sam nodded. "Do you want to go back?"
He shook his head. "Nah. Want to take a good look at the place before it falls apart".
He'd meant it as a joke, but it still fell flat, and Sam bit his lip. He was about to answer when the door opened and Dean heard heavy footsteps coming towards them.
"Hello, Sam. Dean".
Dad.
He turned around and looked at his father. He didn't like what he saw. His eyes were bloodshot, indicating that he'd spent the last night drunk, he hadn't shaved in days, and his clothes were dirty.
He wondered where he had spent the night. Couldn't have been at his own home, otherwise he could have changed.
He'd ignored Cas as well, and that might have angered Dean more than he would have liked to admit.
"Hi, Dad," he said, and tried not to notice how much less heartfelt it sounded than when he'd called Bobby that word.
"Back in business, I see," he answered, and Dean stared, unable to believe that his father expected him to open up the shop. Must be a joke.
He laughed.
"Yeah, well, as soon as we throw that thing out and I relive thirty years of memories, we're good to go".
Dean stared at the drawer with horror. He supposed it wasn't exactly tactful to point out that something in his father's beloved garage had caused his injuries. He must be feeling guilty as hell.
"Looks really stable. No wonder no one noticed it was about to fall over," he provided. After he'd gotten over his initial shock, he had apparently no problems looking at or talking about the chest.
Sam's heart squeezed painfully in his chest when he saw his brother comfort his father for the wrong reason. Dean, of course, thought that the reminder of his stay in the hospital made Dad uncomfortable.
If only Sam could have deceived himself the same way.
"We just wanted to show Dean the garage," he said, aware that Dad had yet to acknowledge Cas' presence.
Thankfully, the mention of his former shop immediately got his father talking, as he beckoned Dean close and began a long-winded story about the business that had always been his dream.
It was obvious that Dean was listening out of the desire to be nice to his father rather than because of real interest; and it was equally obvious that it must be so, since Dad's story centred around himself, while Dean was still trying to understand who he was. And he had been less than happy about the appearance of the shop.
Once things got back to normal, Sam vowed, he'd do everything in his power to make Dean change it according to his tastes. If he had to forego a few months of searching for employment in order to make his brother happy, so be it.
Dean listened to everything his father had to say, but sadly could find nothing that meant anything to him. It was nice to know when exactly the shop had been opened – 1982, when he had been three years old – and that Dad had fulfilled a life-long dream of his, but it told him little regarding himself and that, although selfish, was his main object at the moment.
He gave his father credit that he wanted to make him remember having heard all of this before, though, so he smiled and nodded.
Even if he still thought the building needed a makeover.
The pill had worked, and he no longer had a headache, but as his doctors had predicted, he was feeling a little bit tired. Cas noticed, naturally.
"Dean," he said eagerly, stepping up and interrupting Dad, "are you alright? Should we go back?"
"Just a little tired, is all. Doctors said I would be. Plus, I want to visit Bobby". He then reflected that he knew precious little about himself and that Sam and Cas might very well be more apt at realizing that he needed a break than he was.
"If that's alright with you," he continued, and for a moment, Sam's eyes widened in astonishment. He then cleared his throat and said, "Sure. Why not? He'll want to see you anyway".
Dean agreed with him and he couldn't deny that he wanted to see the older man himself, regrettably more so than he desired to see his father again in the immediate future.
The father who looked rather flustered.
"Well, then, in this case – say him to him for me, would you?" And then he left, mumbling something to himself that Dean supposed were excuses.
Had Dad and Bobby had a fight? Dean had, until now, assumed they were friends. It would certainly explain why he and his brother were so close to Bobby. But Dad obviously didn't want to meet him.
The salvage yard was messy but, unlike the garage, well-kept. Sam parked where he wanted, claiming that Bobby wouldn't care, and they could already hear someone hammering away when they exited the car.
Fixing dents, Dean thought automatically, without even having wondered what Bobby was doing.
It was practical, this instinctive knowledge, although it was frustrating too. Why couldn't he remember when he'd learned all that stuff?
They moved towards the noise, Dean eagerly looking around.
For a place that was full of barely-functioning cars, it had a strange homey feel to it. Dean could very well imagine him and Sam running around as children.
The trouble was that he was only imagining it, not remembering.
It didn't matter though, because the moment they entered the work shop, Bobby looked up and let the hammer drop with a smile, coming forward to hug him and inquire how he was doing. He didn't give him the feeling that he had to remember, like his Dad; he just wanted to be there for him until he did.
"63 Ford Galaxie?" he asked, looking at the car Bobby had been working on.
He nodded; if he was surprised that Dean had known, he didn't show it.
Dean moved instinctively. He was at the car before another word passed his lips, glancing at the dents in the hood Bobby had been working on and checking out the motor.
"The conveyor belt needs to be replaced".
"Really?" Bobby asked sarcastically, but without venom in his voice. "And I thought it wasn't working 'cause of the dents. My bad".
Dean flashed him a smile that was returned before he continued to look over the car. It really was beautiful, but not as well cared for as the Impala, that he'd taken quite a liking to since sitting down in it the first time.
He actually wanted to drive, he realized. Cas and Sam had both told him more than once that he was a competent and passionate driver, so he'd look upon this new-found desire as a good thing. But he was still taking medication. Better to wait a little longer.
"A new coat of paint..." he mumbled to himself as his hands felt the dents on the hood.
"That's what I've been telling the owner. He's stubborn, though. Keeps talking about 'authenticity'".
"Good luck with that when the paint just falls off one day because it decided it was better to die than try and hold on," Dean said. "Really, what's the use of an old motor when you don't take care of it? There's a reason there are university courses in restoration – "
He stopped because until now he'd never really thought about university. Or why he had never visited one. He'd no idea what he'd been like at school, but he assumed someone like Cas wouldn't have become his friend if he'd been a slacking troublemaker. And to be honest, he kind of liked the idea of going to college.
And he'd worked on the Impala, so apparently he as good at restoring cars. Why not study it and make it his specialty? Why not build up a business with that, instead of trying to make do in the old shop?
He was certainly questioning his career choices.
He realized he'd been silent for too long and cleared his throat.
"Anyway, it's goddamn stupid".
Bobby, who thankfully ignored his pause, chuckled.
"What can I say? Some people just don't know how to appreciate the good things in life."
Cas watched their exchange and wondered what Dean would say when he saw his Lincoln. When he had bought it, his friend had been very outspoken on the subject; and to be honest, he hadn't stopped criticizing it since.
From anyone else, it would have been annoying, but when Dean complained, Cas could only find it endearing.
He had long known that his feelings for his best friend would cause trouble eventually, and watching him interact with Bobby, feeling his heart beat faster just at seeing him smile, Cas admitted to himself that he had not made the least bit of progress getting over them.
If his sweating palms were any indication, quite the opposite, in fact.
Bobby and Dean discussed the car for a few more minutes, then he invited them into his house for coffee. None of them mentioned that it was done so that Dean could have a good look around.
Dean felt better than he had in his apartment or the garage. Not because he remembered stuff or because the place seemed familiar – it just felt safe. He practically felt at home here.
He figured he and Sam had spent a lot of time here when they were kids. It made sense with how close they were to Bobby, and certainly, after they'd met, Cas had been no stranger here.
They stayed for over two hours, mainly because Bobby insisted that Dean take it slow and that he should look around some more – Dean suspected that he just wanted him around, to make sure he was fine, and he obliged. He even helped Bobby with the car, even though he wouldn't allow him to pick up something heavier than a wrench.
Dean grew to appreciate Bobby even more in these two hours. Despite his rough exterior, he cared deeply for the brothers and Cas, and he wasn't afraid to show it.
At the end of their visit, when it became obvious that Dean wasn't wholly recovered and should get some rest, Bobby pulled him aside. He had a serious look on his face.
"Listen, boy..." he began, then stopped. Dean waited. He had the feeling Bobby didn't like to be pushed.
"You went to the garage".
Dean frowned. They had already told him. Why did he need to speak with him about it? Alone? Was he apologizing for closing the shop without telling them?
"I should have cleaned up. You should never have seen – I wanted to clean up. But..." he stopped again. His jaw clenched and Dean understood.
Bobby had been the one to find him, and his blood on the drawer and floor had been a reminder of that day. No wonder he hadn't been able to go near it.
He spontaneously pulled the older man into a hug. He seemed surprised, but hugged back.
"It's alright. I get it," he assured him, pulling back. "We can do it later".
Bobby nodded, and Dean said nothing about the few tears that glittered in his eyes. "You go get some rest. I'll call".
He nodded and they left.
"How's Jess doing?" Dean asked on the way back. He hadn't asked about his brother's girlfriend in a while and felt he should, especially since because of him Sam couldn't be there for her at the moment.
"She's freaking out."
"That's normal. I bet you were too."
"I called you four times the day before my bar exam," Sam admitted.
"And, did it help?"
"You teased me mercilessly."
"Did you expect anything else?"
"I knew better".
Dean chuckled and his eyes found Cas' in the rear view mirror. His friend was smiling at him fondly. Breathing suddenly became difficult, and it had nothing to do with his chest.
He really had to get that under control.
When they arrived at the apartment, Sam and Cas insisted that he lay down, and since his headache had made a reappearance, he decided it was for the best. He was allowed to take the next pill, so he did before he lay down on his back – his chest injury preventing him from rolling over – and was soon asleep.
Cas saw Sam's shoulders slump as Dean left the room, the facade he'd been holding up slowly crumbling. He knew his friend had been too optimistic. It had been tempting to think that Dean would take one look around and remember everything, and Sam had allowed himself to fall into the trap.
Everything he could say had surely already crossed Sam's mind as he tried to cheer himself up, so Cas began to make them dinner, silently supporting him.
Eventually Sam joined in, chopping the vegetables he was determined to make Dean eat, and said "Thanks".
He needed no explanation what for.
Dean stumbled into the kitchen two hours later, looking sheepish for having slept too long, but they both waved away his apologies.
It was during dinner that Dean realized this wasn't the end of the world. He was disappointed; he couldn't deny it; he had hoped for much, and what had he gottem? Nothing. He had a shop that was falling apart, a brother and adopted uncle who loved him very much, a best friend who... he wasn't going to go there, and a father who didn't know what to do with him.
But at the moment, everything was alright.
They were eating the ragout Cas had made (Sam eying him every time he took a bite of the cooked vegetables that went with it) and just relaxed. They talked, they joked, they laughed.
It was okay.
He might not have his memories, but he had a family.
And for the moment, that was all that mattered.
The weekend passed quietly. Dean looked at every picture, home video and other memorabilia Sam, Cas, and Bobby could find. Even their father showed up, clutching a few pictures of them and their mother, reluctant to lessen his grip on them for more than a minute.
Sadly, Dean still felt like he was seeing them for the first time; and, other than a passing regret that he would never meet her, he didn't grieve much for his mother's death.
He wondered if this made him a bad person, but then Cas, who had of course guessed what he was thinking of, suddenly blurted out, "Once Gabriel tried to steal your wallet, and it had a picture of your mum in it, so you punched him in the face right in the cafeteria, and he fell into the line and dragged three students down with him".
It was such a non sequitur that Dean couldn't help but laugh.
Sam offered Cas stay the night – not without throwing Dean a glance to ask whether he was alright with it – but their friend declined, insisting that he should be heading back home now.
It was Cas' way of giving them space, and Dean appreciated it. He couldn't neglect his brother over a crush he shouldn't indulge in.
He hugged Cas before he left, though. Hugging was normal. Hugging was what friends did. And they were best friends, so this should be something they did on a regular basis.
Apparently it was not, because Cas stiffened in his arms before hugging back. His smile gave Dean hope that he hadn't taken it badly, however.
Dean was still Dean. It was the one thought that had gotten Sam through this weekend whenever his brother did or said something out of character.
Sometimes it wasn't bad; like now. Dean had always been over-conscious of his personal space (while more or less allowing Cas to breathe the same air as him, the logic of which Sam had always failed to grasp) but he seemed just as open to show his affection physically as he was to speaking about his feelings.
Cas left after the hug, looking somewhat struck and more enamoured than ever, and Dean turned around to smile at Sam.
Sam didn't bring it up. He didn't want to make him uncomfortable. He wanted him to feel good and happy, to remember the feeling of allowing himself to do so when he was back to normal.
Since Cas had left them alone to bond, Sam was determined not to let the opportunity slide.
Dean was feeling better – he had barely complained about his chest or head today, and he'd slept long and well – so that they sat in the living room for hours.
"Brady did what?" Dean laughed, disbelieving, and Sam shrugged his shoulders.
"There are worse things than to have a friend accidentally inform a professor that I thought his legal opinion was wrong. And he introduced me to Jess, so I guess we're even".
"I would have loved to see this go down. You must have been beet-red when you first talked to her, Sammy".
He probably had been, but he wasn't about to admit it. So he continued with stories of his university life.
Eventually, Dean grew thoughtful, and after knowing him all his life, Sam knew what was coming.
"We're really close, aren't we? You haven't mentioned me visiting you at all. Hard to believe that I would pass up an opportunity to see Stanford".
But that was exactly what had happened. Dean worked the whole year – Sam suspected that, if not for him and Bobby, he would work through Christmas and other holidays too without Dad finding it the slightest bit odd – and he had never taken the time to drive or fly to Stanford. Even though Sam was still sure that Dad would easily have been able to take over the shop for a few days, no matter what he said; and of course Dean had always refused Bobby's offer of looking after it so he could go see Sam.
Sam would have loved him to see Stanford.
Dean knew Jess not half as well as Sam would have liked. And it wasn't just her; he was ready to bet that Dean would have gotten along with all of his friends. Dean, of course, would have argued the opposite. He'd always laughed and told him, "You got all the nerdy genes, they wouldn't know what to do with dumb old me".
The last thing Sam wanted now was to give Dean the impression that he hadn't wanted to see him – or the exact one of himself that he'd always had: being too stupid to go within a hundred square miles of college.
"You had a lot of work".
"Apparently not on the shop," Dean shot back, then looked away guiltily. "Sorry. Didn't mean to – "
"Don't apologize, please. Dad wants the shop to stay the way it was when Mum was alive, and you –" Sam had trouble to think of a word that wasn't "obeyed" – "humoured him. After all, you still rem – "
He stopped and flushed. This wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to approach the topic.
Dean smirked.
"It's alright".
He wanted to hear about his mother, but Dad had been very hesitant when it came to her, and Sam had lost her when he was six months old.
It still brought nothing, no sense of grief or loss, to think about her death. He knew it must mean something to him because he had her picture on his nightstand; but other than the fact she had been pretty and had had an open, affectionate face, he couldn't say much about her.
Neither could Sam, because apparently they'd never talked about her much. Which was really weird in Dean's opinion, but then again, Dad had apparently been mourning her for over twenty-five years.
Dean could understand that it must be difficult to lose the love of one's life.
But sitting here, watching Sam struggling to recall every scrap of information he had ever managed to learn about their mother, he couldn't help but think that Dad could have found better ways of coping than not alluding to her ever and insisting that the shop stayed the same.
Still, it was pretty cool to hear that Mum had made tomato rice soup when he was ill and had sung "Hey Jude" to him instead of some lame lullaby.
He could tell Sam was growing uncomfortable with the stuff he didn't know though, so Dean changed the subject.
"Any chance you're gonna let me drive the Impala without me remembering a single driving lesson?"
The look of horror on Sam's face didn't pass even as he brought up his Spanish skills, but a few seconds later they were laughing.
Things were going rather well, Dean concluded when he went to bed. The only thing he was really worrying about was his crush on Cas, and he would get that under control soon enough.
Doctor Moseley would have been proud. Not that he planned to tell her about his feelings for his best friend. She would have a field day.
He looked through his wardrobe. He had wondered if what Sam had brought him had been a representative sample of his clothes, and apparently it was. He hadn't known a man could own that much plaid. Not that he didn't like it, he was just a little surprised. The band shirts were pretty cool, though.
Opening a drawer of his nightstand, he found one of his questions answered. He found an eBook reader, almost fully charged (expensive then, if the battery worked that long). When he clicked on the library, he found a list of what must have been hundreds of books.
He smiled. He'd known he liked to read without being told. It was a start.
He randomly opened Slaughterhouse-Five and started to read.