Hi! It's been a while, so here's a little something I've been working on. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy as much as I've loved writing it. Just a quick note- I'm not a doctor. I have no idea how traumatic brain injuries work so anything goes I'm gonna take some liberties for the sake of the story!
Chapter One: I'm Dean
Dean Winchester tossed his bag back into the trunk of the Impala, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Sam was on his way into the Men of Letters bunker they called home. He had promised he'd be right behind him, tired after a long rugaru hunt in the Middle of Nowhere, Arkansas.
He wasn't planning to go into the bunker, though. Dean had somewhere far more important to be, and he had to get on the road soon before the winter weather got any worse than it already was.
It was mid-November, and Dean pulled his jacket collar a little closer as he got back into the car, his baby, and hit the road without a word to Sam. He'd text him later to let him know that something came up and he'd be back in a week or two.
Led Zeppelin blared through the speakers of the Impala as Dean drove a familiar path to Bend, Oregon, where he checked in at a motel where the woman behind the counter knew him by name.
"Long time no see, Dean," the friendly woman with silver hair smiled at him, wrinkles creasing at the corners of her eyes. "Same room, til you're ready to check out?"
"Yes, ma'am," he nodded in response, signing his name and handing her cash.
The woman, whose name tag read Margaret he knew to call her Maggie, handed him a key and Dean pocketed it gratefully.
"Have a good stay, dear. Don't be a stranger if you need anything," she told him in a motherly voice, and Dean nodded again, flashing her a grateful smile before leaving for his room.
After dropping off his bag and warming up a little, Dean grew antsy and climbed back into the Impala and started driving again.
The sound of Dean's boots hitting linoleum echoed as he walked down the hall. Turn left, then right, then the third door on the left at the end of the hall. He knocked gently out of habit, and opened the door.
He inhaled as he stepped in, the smell of bergamot filling his senses as he spotted the lit candle he had brought the last time he was here. It helped cover up the sterile smell of the facility.
The room was small, with a bookshelf, a floor lamp, and a table with a few chairs tucked in. The candle sat atop the table, along with a deck of cards. There wasn't any art on the cool, grey walls, but there was a whiteboard with days of the week and a schedule written out in color-coded marker. Today's date said: Tuesday, Nov. 13 - Visitor.
Finally, he turned his attention to the reason why he was here. The reason why he was always here, as often as he could be over the past year.
A woman sat on a twin sized bed, her forest green eyes staring out the window intently, watching the slush of winter float through the air. Her ashy blonde hair was longer than he remembered, falling in waves well past her shoulders and grazing her elbows. He wondered when it was last cut.
He was always awestruck by her, every time he saw the light catch her high cheekbones. There was a dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks that he had counted on more than one occasion. She was wearing a navy blue sweatshirt and her legs were tucked up underneath herself, her hands folded in her lap over a book she had probably been reading.
"Hey Everly," Dean finally got out, making his presence known.
The woman, Everly, blinked before turning to look at him, staring for a moment, her head tilted in confusion as her dark eyebrows furrowed.
She started to speak, but ended up having to clear her throat before she asked, "Do I know you?"
Dean's heart stopped in his chest, which was a feeling he should have been used to at this point. He knew it was coming, but it still didn't hurt any less.
He moved into the room, carefully taking a seat in the chair that was beside her bed, and rubbed his hands over his face.
"I- yeah, you do, did, I guess. But that's okay. I'm Dean, Dean Winchester," he re-introduced for what might've been the hundredth, holding out his hand for her to shake, smiling to himself when her small hand slipped into his for a brief moment. "We- we've met before. I've known you for a long time. You… Do you know why you're here?"
Everly frowned as she pushed her hair back out of her face, biting her bottom lip as she thought.
"The nurses tell me that I was in an accident. That I had a traumatic brain injury, and I'm at a rehab facility. Apparently they tell me every morning, something about my short term memory not being able to convert to long term? And something about my long term memories being jumbled? But I guess I know, but I don't really remember. And I don't remember you, Dean. I- I'm sorry," she said quietly, motioning to the book that was in her lap. "I have it all written down, but I don't think I've gotten to you yet today."
"Don't be sorry," Dean told her quickly, shaking his head. "I'm here to try and help. I visit you as often as I can. Your doctor says it's good for you to see people you knew before the… accident. Do you like the candle?"
"I do!" Everly suddenly beamed at him before glancing over to the large, three wick candle that sat on the table. "It smells wonderful."
Dean grinned back, knowing it was her favorite scent. All of her bath products and lotions had smelled like that, and he grew to love it just as much as she did.
"Good, I brought it the last time I was here," he told her. "Do you want me to tell you about how we met? Your doctor said it might help if you hear stories about your past. Might help jog something, I guess?"
Dean did this every time he visited, and every single time he hoped that her doctor was right. That if he told her enough times, something would stick, and she'd remember who he was and everything they had been through together.
Everly nodded, "Please do. I'd love to know how I met a man as good looking as you."
Dean felt a warmth spread through him and he shrugged off his leather jacket, throwing it over the back of his chair as he launched into the beginning of their story.