Supernatural 1. Anomalous

**WARNING: This story contains spoilers for basically the whole show in general until season 8, but especially for the tail end of season 7. **

**Author's Note: Welcome to my first ever real multichapter fiction! A couple things to note before we begin... First, this is an AU version of the beginning to season 8, but it is canon compliant through 7x23 "Survival of the Fittest". Second, this story is already ENTIRELY written (ending and all). :) Alright! Now that all of that is cleared up... Allons-y! ;)  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. **

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The alarm went off at seven AM, like it did every day, and Robert Johnson was feeling so comfortable in his bed that he almost hit 'snooze' on the blaring machine. It was a Sunday and he didn't have any work scheduled for the rest of the day, so he could sleep in if he really wanted. However, after a brief internal battle he decided he was well rested enough to get up right then.

That was when Robert rolled over and came face to face with a wet snout and two big brown eyes.

He barely had time to register the image in his mind before his face was being coated in sloppy dog-kisses. Robert laughed and pushed the face of his Australian Shepard away playfully.

"Gross! Do you really have to do that _every_ morning?" He teased the animal, but the dog didn't seem to believe that Robert was upset any more than the human actually was. He just smiled up at the man, panting happily.

"Ok pal. It's time for breakfast, I know. Just let me take care of my teeth and stuff first, yeah?" Robert continued to converse with his animal companion as he climbed out of his sheets and headed for the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth and hair quickly, then made his way to the kitchen while his dog trailed behind him eagerly, tail wagging.

Robert set about the task of preparing breakfast for his furry friend, pouring dog chow pellets into a large metal bowl, then cleaning old water out of a second metal bowl before replacing it with fresher contents. Once his dog was taken care of, Robert was able to focus on his own morning needs- the most prominent of which being a desire for caffeine.

He poured coffee grounds into a fresh filter in his machine and then pressed a couple buttons, listening contentedly to the sounds of his beverage brewing and a dog chewing away at his meal. When the coffee was done he poured himself a nice steaming cup and began to sip at it slowly, taking it straight black, just like he did every morning.

In fact this was a perfect example of any old morning for Robert Johnson- calm and simple.

He sighed as he drank a little more coffee and watched his dog licking the bottom of his bowl for the few crumbs that remained. Robert reached for his smartphone on the kitchen counter to check the morning news, but there was nothing too exciting for his app to report, with the exception of an approaching lightning storm that seemed slightly out of season for the area.

Yes, this was just an average morning, but the familiarity of the routine was soothing.

As he was about to open one of the cupboards to retrieve a bowl for some cereal, something happened that interrupted his action.

The doorbell rang.

Robert paused, wondering who would be calling on him so early on a Sunday morning. Suddenly he had a strange thought that something might be wrong. Maybe someone needed his help? The flicker of concern was fleeting, but it was enough to spur him into movement.

By the time the doorbell rang a second time- this time accompanied by a few short knocks- Robert was already walking towards his front door.

"Just a second!" he called out, pausing only to signal for his dog to wait back in the kitchen, before finally opening the door.

Immediately the morning went from typical to anomalous, and Robert wasn't even sure how he knew that except for the person standing on his porch just seemed like an anomalous kind of a guy.

Before him was a man Robert didn't recognize. He was a little over six feet tall, but still a few inches shorter than Robert himself. He wore a brown and cream colored flannel shirt and battered-looking jeans, and his hair was dirty blonde- cropped relatively short, but it looked like it had grown past whatever military-like style it was used to.

However, the man's eyes were what caught Robert's attention most- deep green, and playing host to about a hundred different emotions that Robert couldn't keep track of, though he could definitely identify happiness and something close to…relief?

"Sammy," the stranger breathed out.

_**One Week Ago:**_

Being free of Purgatory was a breath of fresh air, but the feeling of contentment lasted only for a moment before Dean's primary instincts kicked in, and then he couldn't care less that he was back on Earth.

Not until he knew for sure that his brother was ok.

Dean kept his promise to Benny and helped the vampire find his body. However, he left as soon as his friend took physical form again and headed immediately for Rufus's old hunting cabin in Whitefish, Montana.

That was the last place he knew his brother had been staying.

A part of him felt bad about leaving his comrade on his own right away. After all, the guy had been nothing short of loyal and dependable all through their time together, and Dean knew adjusting to life as a pseudo-human would be tough on a vampire after so many years running free in Monster Land. But Dean didn't have time to hold Benny's hand as he got used to life in the real world once more. Not when Sam was out there and Dean didn't know where.

So as soon as Benny was alive and well once more, Dean took off.

First he used a pay-phone to try all of the numbers he knew Sam had, but none of them were working. So he proceeded to steal an old rusted Toyota Corolla and speed toward Whitefish, driving straight through the night.

The entire ride was spent hyper aware of how slowly miles could pass when covering them in a clunky compact vehicle, and he longed for his precious Impala with every turn of the tires. Yet it was a choice between the Corolla, or walking, and speed was of the essence.

At last Dean found himself in front of a cabin he hadn't seen in more time than he liked to think about. But there was a problem- something that made the sight feel unexpectedly unwelcome.

The cabin was dark and there was no Impala parked out front. In fact, there was no car at all, no tire marks in the dirt, and no sign that anyone had been there in a good long while.

Dean, still clinging to hope that tracking his brother down would be a straightforward job, decided to give it some time. _Maybe Sam just went for a bite to eat, or to the store, _Dean tried to convince himself, ignoring the lack of tire tracks. But the thought was hard to sell, even to his own brain that had generated it. _I'll just go inside and wait for him to get back, _he thought, and so Dean climbed out of the rust bucket he had been abusing and walked up to the cabin's door.

It wasn't locked and the door swung open easily on the first attempt, though the hinges squeaked loudly in protest against their movement. It was somewhat dark inside, but by the light of the rising sun Dean could make out the shapes of the couch, table, chairs, and fireplace he remembered from his last visit.

Actually, as Dean moved around the room seeking any signs that someone had been living there recently, he realized the room looked _exactly_ as he remembered from his last visit.

There was an old mug on the dining table from when Sam had been drinking coffee the last morning they had eaten together. Two plates sat in the sink- the same plates upon which Castiel had placed the sandwiches he had prepared for them hours before they had gone after Dick Roman. There was a book sitting on the coffee table- some ancient tome of lore that Sam had been scanning right up until they walked out the door…

Dust and cobwebs coated basically everything and the fireplace was as empty as could be. Given that the fall air would chill the cabin at night, anyone living there would have needed to heat the place up. But the fireplace was devoid of anything other than a small clump of old ashes.

Dean sighed, feeling the pull of disappointment, but still he convinced himself to wait just a little longer.

**OoO**

Dean ended up spending the whole of the day at the cabin waiting.

First he sat on the dusty couch, doing his best not to fidget. However, he quickly remembered just how much he lacked the virtue of patience, and so he began pacing the room. It was during his pacing that he thought to look through the other rooms in the cabin. He immediately set to work exploring them all, hoping to see some evidence of Sam living there.

While closer inspection of the rest of the cabin turned up no proof of his brother having been there in the recent past, it did result in Dean locating an old stash of their things from before they went after Dick, including a spare cellphone and some of his old emergency credit cards. The cellphone was dead, but he found its charger and tucked all of the items into his pocket for use later on.

He also found some of his clothes in the dresser of the room he'd been sharing with his brother, and so Dean took advantage of the chance to change out of his filthy Purgatory attire. True, the new clothes were a bit musty, but with a good shake they were still better than the blood-and-mud coated stuff he'd been wearing for an entire year. He showered in the (very cold) water that thankfully still ran in the cabin's tiny bathroom, and put on his 'new' clothes.

Then Dean decided it would be productive to go and inspect the woodpile stacked outside and see if any of the wood would be suitable for building a fire. Sam would still see him if…_when, _he quickly corrected himself…when the younger man pulled up, and then neither of them would get stuck digging through a pile of logs in the dark when the sun set that evening. Plus, they'd have a nice fire to sit by while they caught up on what their past year had been like.

After Dean finished sorting the good wood from the bad, the afternoon sun was high in the sky. Yet still there was no sign of his little brother.

So he found a slightly rusted iron axe near the woodpile outside and took it upon himself to chop up the usable wood he had organized. It wasn't a necessity, but the physical act of swinging a blade down into wood, hearing a satisfying thud, and pulling back again, was a great distraction from the unsettling thoughts creeping into his mind.

After a fairly long session of wood-chopping, however, even the calming and steady beat of the axe could no longer keep him from facing the obvious:

The sun was now setting, and Sam hadn't returned to the cabin.

Dean had to accept that Sam probably hadn't come there in a very long time.

With a long-suffering sigh of defeat, Dean carried part of the supply of chopped wood back into the cabin and piled it into the empty fireplace. He located an old box of matches in one of the kitchen cupboards and set fire to the fruits of his labor.

Staring into the dancing orange flames, Dean couldn't help but feel lost.

He needed to find Sam, and fast, because he just wasn't sure he could handle knowing he had fought so damn hard to reach his brother, and now was stopped from seeing him just because of something as dumb as not knowing the guy's location.

The sun was rapidly sinking beneath the trees outside, and soon the glow from the fire was the only source of light in the cabin. Dean sat down again on the old sofa and swept his gaze around the room.

If Sam wasn't there, that just meant he was somewhere else. _And I'm going to find him,_ Dean assured himself, feeling a familiar spark of determination.

He made himself a promise that first thing the next day he would head into town and get a laptop, food, and whatever other supplies he might need. This cabin would become his base-camp and he would stay there searching every corner of the States- hell, the _globe _even- until he had a lead on his brother's whereabouts.

He hadn't crawled out of a wasteland of monsters for nothing.

**OoO**

It took longer than Dean would have liked to figure out where Sam was holed up, but after about six days of searching, Dean found records of a speeding ticket that could be traced to his own Impala. From there he was able to obtain an address the car was associated with at the date the ticket was issued, which was only one month prior.

_609 E 3rd St, Apartment 1A, Lexington, NE 68850_

Dean read the address, simultaneously grateful that Sam had been ticketed for speeding and worried that Sam could have damaged Baby with his reckless driving. After that it was a simple matter of packing his things into the rusty Toyota and heading out. Not even an hour after Dean found the lead, the hunter was on the road toward the city of Lexington, Nebraska, which was a mere state and a half away from Rufus's cabin in Whitefish.

Dean drove above speed limit the entire trip, watching the miles fly by as he followed the 93 to the 12, to the big I-90, then took the 83 to the I-80, and finally arrived in Lexington. After driving for too many hours straight, he was surprisingly alert. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest as he covered the last stretch of asphalt between himself and, hopefully, his brother.

His hope was confirmed as fact when he pulled into the apartment complex he had traced the ticket to and saw the beautiful body of his beloved Impala sitting in the paved lot beside a clump of apartments.

Dean grinned then, having missed the automobile almost as much as he had his sibling. He quickly parked the Camry he was driving, climbed out, and jogged over to the black car. (He had ditched the Corolla from before and traded to a Toyota Camry. And yeah, after so many weeks of Toyota usage, Dean was absolutely sure that he _hated_ Toyotas.)

"Hey there beautiful! Aw, did ya miss me Baby?" he asked the car, running a hand over the smooth metal and smiling appreciatively at how well his brother had maintained her. She looked clean and sleek as ever and there was not a scratch on her.

After a few more moments spent admiring his precious vehicle, Dean finally turned his attention to the apartment behind her. He took a deep breath, feeling his nerves bubbling again. How would Sam react to seeing him after so much time?

He hoped his brother would be happy that he'd made it out of Purgatory, but then again, maybe Sam would be disappointed it took him so long… Would Sam be angry that Dean had left him on his own that whole year to cope with the Leviathan clean-up?

Dean took a breath and began walking forward, determined to face his worries head on. Besides, deep down he knew that seeing his brother angry still meant seeing his brother, and Dean's desire for that to occur outweighed his concerns completely.

The hunter walked up the two steps to the small porch in front of apartment 1A and rang the doorbell. He paused a moment, and when he heard nothing, the thought struck to him that it was a Sunday and pretty early in the morning (he had been driving all night, again) so maybe Sam was still asleep. It would be rude to wake him up then, right?

But then Dean figured that reunions with year-lost brothers justified early wake-up calls, so he tried the doorbell again, this time adding a couple knocks for good measure. In response, a muffled voice called out from behind the door, "Just a second!"

Dean felt his heart rate speed up again, because he knew that muffled voice anywhere. It was…

"Sammy," Dean breathed out in relief as the door finally opened and he saw his over-sized younger sibling, alive and well.

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**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! By this point I bet you're wondering, "What's up with Sam?" Well, you'll just have to stay tuned to find out! ;) I will be updating this every Tuesday and Friday, which means the next chapter will be out this Friday. Also, feedback is infinitely better than gold, so please don't be shy! :)**


	2. A Web Of Half-Truths

**Author's Note: As promised, here is the next chapter right on schedule! I want to thank TG, judyann, mb64, reannablue, Zana Zira, Lewlou15, flygirl33, 221BNB, ImpalaLove, pryde23, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, jojospn, Lailglow-Greenleaf, janiekm, StyxxsOmega, Er-BearG32, Kingdommast, GuestJ, and a Guest for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! Seriously everyone, I did not expect such a strong response to this story. You guys are wonderful! :)  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. **

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"Sammy," Dean said the minute his brother opened the door, because that name had always been his knee-jerk reflexive response to the relief of finding Sam safe after not being sure he was. But as he continued to stare at the taller man, Dean began to notice…_things_ about him.

The first thing Dean noticed was that Sam's hair was even longer than it was the last time they were together.

The second thing was that Sam didn't seem to care at all that Dean was standing on his doorstep after an entire year of having been absent.

Dean wasn't sure what bothered him more.

"I'm sorry, there's no 'Sammy' here," Sam said, looking a little confused, but definitely not like he had just been confronted with a brother he'd been missing.

In that moment, Dean knew for certain which thing bothered him the most.

"But I think there's a Samantha in 3B. Is that who you're looking for?" Sam continued, still not seeming to get the fact that his long-lost brother was alive and in the flesh directly in front of him. Dean went from relieved to deflated in the space of time it took Sam to speak. What was going on and why didn't Sam care that he was there? Why was he looking at Dean as though he _didn't know him at all_?

"Are you ok?" Sam asked, now looking slightly concerned.

Concerned, but empty, and it was suddenly obvious to Dean that Sam wasn't seeing his brother before him at all. Somehow to Sam, Dean was just a total stranger knocking on his door.

Dean needed to think fast…

Should he just tell Sam the truth? Sam always hated dishonesty between them, right? It would be wrong to lie when he could simply tell Sam that they were actually brothers, and that somehow he'd forgotten that, probably because of dark magic of some kind. Then he would explain that they'd need to work together to fix the situation, just like they always did.

It was easy as pie. Except...

Except what if Sam just thought he was nuts and told him to leave? That's what any reasonable person would do, and memories or not, Dean was certain his brother was still a logical guy. Dean would definitely have a much harder time solving this problem if Sam took out a restraining order against him or something...

In a moment of reluctant decisiveness, Dean said the first cover story that came to his mind and hoped he was making the right call.

"Sorry, you looked like someone I- Never mind. I'm new around here, staying at the motel down the street while my apartment gets fixed up for my move-in. So I just wanted to, uh, stop by and meet my future neighbors, you know?" he blurted out, trying to sound like a normal guy wanting to get to know the people in his new neighborhood… Because that _was_ normal, right?

Especially at seven AM on a Sunday.

Dean internally kicked himself for not having at least waited to knock later in the day.

"Um, isn't it a little early for a meet and greet?" Sam asked, clearly thinking along the same lines. But he was smiling politely and not demanding that Dean evacuate his porch, so Dean figured things weren't going as poorly as they could have.

Ok, his little brother apparently had no clue who he was anymore. But other than that things were doing just fine.

"Yeah, I'm kind of an early bird. I forget not everyone else is, sorry," Dean chuckled a little awkwardly, trying to figure out what his next move should be. This reunion was _definitely_ not going like he had planned. After a moment of silence in which Dean couldn't help but study Sam's eyes, hoping to find some sign that it was all just a _really_ bad joke, Sam finally offered, "Uh, do you want to come in for some coffee? I just made a fresh pot. We can caffeinate while we do the whole 'neighborly icebreaker' thing."

"Coffee sounds good," Dean replied instantly, jumping at the chance to spend some time talking to Sam more in depth.

He guessed his next step would be getting information about Sam's situation so he could piece together what had led to the guy's lack of memory, and what better way than to chat with the man himself?

**OoO**

Robert opened his door wider, allowing the man to come right inside his apartment. It occurred to Robert then that he was letting a total stranger walk into his home with basically zero questions asked. Hell, he didn't even know the guy's name! Still, he couldn't bring himself to feel concerned. He somehow felt quite strongly that this person was not there to hurt him. And besides, he could get his name easily just by ask-

"So, what's your name?" the man inquired, beating Robert to the punch.

"Johnson. Robert Johnson," answered Robert, glancing over his shoulder as he lead the way through the hallway that connected to his kitchen.

For a second the newcomer looked torn between amusement and sadness, but then Robert might have just imagined it because the flicker of emotion was gone too quickly to be sure. As they reached the end of the hallway they came across Robert's Australian Shepard wearing an expression of wary curiosity.

"Hey Dean! Meet our new neighbor," Robert said to the dog, signaling that the stranger in their home was welcome. "He won't bite. He's friendly, I promise." Robert added to the man when he caught sight of the look on his face- upset definitely, and a little cautious?

"What about yourself?" Robert asked.

"Huh…?" the man replied, looking genuinely lost. He stared at the dog for a moment, then glanced back at Robert, and then returned his gaze to the dog once more, appearing somewhat distraught.

"What's your name?" Robert clarified.

"Uh..." the man paused before finally answering just a bit slowly, "Garth Win...ston. My name is Garth Winston."

Robert caught the hesitation and knew it was suspicious, but again he didn't have it in himself to feel worried.

Garth turned his attention back to the dog while Dean sniffed him a little more. Eventually the animal walked back to sit by Robert, making it obvious to the newcomer that he owned the human. Robert noticed that, again, it sort of looked like Garth was bothered by something. The emotion disappeared as soon as Robert thought he spotted it though, and he was starting to realize that this Garth guy was a hard book to read.

"Your dog's name is 'Dean'? What kind of name is that for a dog?" Garth queried. His eyebrows were raised and it was clear he thought the choice was unusual.

"Hey, don't poke fun at my best friend's name!" Robert retorted with a smile as he bent to rub Dean's ears affectionately. The dog wagged his tail in response, oblivious to any judgment that had been passed regarding his title.

"Why'd you pick that name?" pressed Garth, clearly trying to sound like it was an idle question. Yet Robert got the feeling the inquiry was somehow important to the man, if the slight lift in his tone meant anything.

"I don't know. It just felt right for him- Dean seemed like a respectable name. And I've never thought much of people who named their dogs 'Mr. Paws' or something like that anyway," Robert answered, and watched as Garth's eyes widened a bit.

**OoO**

Dean was just easing into to the idea of Sam not remembering him when suddenly the whole 'my amnesiac brother apparently named himself after our father and our uncle, but he named a freaking _dog_ after me' thing came up and threw him for another loop. Then again, Sam also had said he thought the name was 'respectable', so maybe he should take it as a compliment?

This was getting really weird. And Dean dealt with 'weird' on a regular basis, but today he was exploring new levels of it.

"So, what do you do for a living Garth?" Sam's voice interrupted Dean's overwhelmed thoughts, and it took Dean a moment to remember he was supposed to answer to the name 'Garth'.

Dean wished he had come up with a better cover name- or had used his real name, even. But in the split second he'd been given to decide between his real name and an alias, he'd panicked. He still didn't know if Sam had been cursed, and if he had been, then springing Dean's real name on him could have some unfortunate consequences. For example, Sam could suddenly feel strongly compelled to force Dean away because of the curse. So instead Dean had blurted out the first name that he could think of, and it just happened to be Garth's.

Dean was sure that Sam would have laughed at his selection had he been, well, _Sam_.

Meanwhile, 'Robert' was pouring an extra mug of coffee and still waiting patiently for an answer to his question. Dean finally responded with, "Uh, mechanical work. I'm an auto mechanic," trying to keep his voice casual.

Sam handed him the drink and he accepted it gratefully as he spoke. It was straight black, just like he usually drank it.

"That's cool. I'm a handyman myself, so I work on machines too. Not automobiles really, but generators, AC units, washing machines... The usual household stuff," chatted Sam lightly, looking completely at ease with the situation.

Which Dean realized was kind of odd in and of itself.

Shouldn't 'Robert' or whoever seem a little more bothered by the presence of some random guy in his kitchen? Shouldn't he look at least a bit awkward about it? Apparently not. Robert Johnson looked just like Sam Winchester did whenever he was relaxing in some motel with Dean- shoulders loose, eyes bright. There was no indication that he didn't trust 'Garth Winston'.

Dean was pleased, but also worried. How vulnerable was this new version of his brother if he let total strangers just waltz into his kitchen to have coffee with him? Considering how many demons and angels and nightmares would love to kill a Winchester, Dean decided that it was a miracle Sam wasn't dead.

After another moment of lull in the conversation, Dean realized 'Robert' was waiting for him to comment yet again, so he quickly said, "Being a handyman sounds like a good job. People are always breaking stuff so you'll always have work, right?"

Sam chuckled and replied, "Yeah. There's a girl who lives in a house three blocks away, and I swear she messes up her dishwasher or garbage disposal at least once a week."

The laugh was so real- so _Sam_\- that Dean couldn't help but to tease him by saying, "Sounds like she's into you, man."

Sam smiled, but somehow it wasn't as genuinely happy as it should have been. "Nah, that'd be too lucky for me," he replied, and for a moment Dean swore he saw a hint of classic 'Sam Winchester emo insecurity' shining through. Although it was covered up quickly, it spurred Dean to pursue the subject.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, hoping he wasn't overstepping some boundary of social etiquette that new neighbors weren't supposed to cross.

"I guess you could say I haven't had the best luck with women. Or in general," Sam said hesitantly. He looked unsure if he wanted to continue with the topic.

Dean seized the chance to earn some trust by saying, "You too, huh? Look, I've got a list a mile long of failed endeavors and relationships, and believe me when I say that I tried my best in all of them. Sometimes luck just ain't in the cards."

Sam brightened a little. "Anyone ever tell you that your outlook on life stinks?" he joked.

_Yeah. You have,_ Dean thought, but when he replied it was only to say, "Doesn't mean I'm wrong though."

Dean was pleased when that comment elicited another laugh that was entirely Sam-like.

"So tell me Robert. What crappy hand of cards did life deal _you_?" Dean finally asked, hoping that Sam would take the bait and give him some of the answers he needed.

And he did.

Over the next hour and a half, 'Robert' told Dean all about his life and the hardships he had faced. He made light of most of it, of course, but there was no denying he had been through the ringer.

Or there _would_ have been no denying that, if Dean hadn't known that everything coming out of the man's mouth was either a made up or mixed up version of the events that Sam Winchester had lived through.

Apparently, Robert Johnson lost both his parents in a (totally non-demonic) house fire as a baby. He was raised by his father's older brother Bobby Seger (whom Robert had been named after). Bobby had been an FBI agent, and apparently he'd been killed by an improvised explosive device in the line of duty. Robert had been devastated for a while, but then he had moved to Nebraska to make a fresh start. Robert made his own living doing independently contracted handyman work, using skills his uncle had taught him. "It's not the most impressive career, but it beats the tech support gig I used to work a few years ago," Sam said, shrugging.

Dean felt like he was stepping into some kind of weird _Twilight Zone_ episode as he tried to make sense of everything he'd just learned.

The first thing that was obvious to him was that Sam's new identity of 'Robert Johnson' had been concocted from a jumbled string of his own real life experiences, weaving a web of half-truths.

His new life took real people he'd known and twisted their stories just a little to fit a more 'normal' life. His parents both died in a regular nursery fire. Bobby Singer became 'Bobby Seger' (Dean had needed to stifle a laugh into his coffee when he heard that, because the classic rock name was just too much. He was sure Sam was getting it from their long history of using such names as aliases while working cases, but it didn't make it any less amusing.) And speaking of aliases, Bobby's job hunting was twisted into that of a_ real_ FBI agent, and his death was conducive to that story.

All these fake facts about Robert's life were strange enough, yet one thing was bothering Dean most about the whole story…

There was no _Dean_ in it at all.

There was no mention of an older brother, or a sibling of any kind. Not even a cousin or a friend that fit the bill. It was as if Dean was entirely deleted from Sam's head, except for the dog named after him, and Dean wasn't exactly sure he wanted to count that anyway. He realized that he was the one person Sam had apparently truly forgotten- not just muddled in with other memories, but whom Sam had let go of completely.

It hurt. A lot more than he'd ever care to admit, actually.

But Dean forced himself to shake off the pain for the time being because another issue was still nagging at him too. All of 'Robert's' memories made sense in their own majorly backwards way. The only thing Dean _wasn't_ clear on was the origin of the memory mess.

The question remained: Why was Sam so mixed up in the head?

Dean didn't get the chance to investigate that subject more, because 'Robert' officially turned the topic over to Dean's life, saying, "God, I've talked way too much. Sorry... What about you Garth? You said something about 'failed endeavors and relationships'?"

Sam was so relaxed as he asked, seeming far more comfortable than he should for just having spilled his supposed life story to someone he didn't even know until less than a couple hours ago.

Dean didn't have a choice but to open up in return.

Of course he lied the whole time.

But he was talking, and 'Robert' was listening. It absolutely wasn't the morning Dean had planned for, but it still didn't go half bad.

**OoO**

After several hours of conversation, Dean wasn't any closer to knowing the reason for Sam's amnesia, but he had a better picture of the extent of the memory-loss. He had thrown in a couple of comments throughout their talk that a hunter, especially Sam, would have picked up on instantly. (He'd even managed to work in a comment about Winchester rifles, to no avail.) 'Robert' didn't even flinch at the remarks. This led Dean to believe not only had Sam forgotten his real identity, but he had definitely forgotten his real life's work, too.

Now Dean knew his next order of business would be to research Sam's recent history to see if any head injuries or accidents had occurred. Maybe Sam had been hurt working a job, and maybe it had led to him losing his recollection of these things? At any rate, he could hardly look into the medical records with 'Robert' by his side, and so Dean reluctantly said he needed to get back to his motel room.

"Got some, uh, paperwork to finish up for the move," Dean lied as Sam walked him to the door with Dean the Dog trotting along by their side.

"No problem," Sam replied. "Well it was good to meet you Garth. I guess I'll be seeing you around."

"Yeah, definitely," Dean replied, thinking to himself that he would be keeping a _very_ close eye on Sam in the coming days. He still hadn't forgotten how easily the younger man had let him into his home and had shared all the details of his life with him, and now that Dean was certain Sam really didn't remember anything about hunting, it only made him think his brother was even more at risk.

The apartment door closed behind Dean, and he almost walked to the Impala before he remembered it wasn't his car at the moment. He groaned and glanced over at the Camry he had used for the drive over.

"I'm sorry Baby," he whispered to the '67 Chevy before walking back to the Toyota, climbing in, and heading off down the street to the motel he'd told Sam he was staying at.

He checked in at the motel, entered room 146, and plopped exhaustedly onto the twin bed near the door. (It was his force of habit to get a room with two twins.)

"I need a drink," he said wearily to the empty room, finally letting the overwhelming nature of the situation catch up to him. Unfortunately it was 12pm on a Sunday, and going to a bar at that hour seemed more pathetic than Dean was willing to be right then, so instead he settled for a much needed nap.

But after only four hours of rest the motel phone on the nightstand started ringing.

"Hello?" answered Dean groggily.

"Dean Winchester?" the voice on the other end of the line inquired.

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**Secondary Author's Note: Oh my! Sam is definitely a bit different, isn't he? And now there's a mysterious phone call from someone who knows Dean's full name? The plot thickens... lol Anyway, thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up on Tuesday as planned. Also, feedback is always wonderful, so please don't be shy! ;)  
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**Special Note For GuestJ: You have no idea how much your eagerness for this story means to me. I can't possibly thank you enough my friend... So I guess I'll just do my own little interpretive dance of gratitude for you, and hope you understand that I _really_ can't dance either, so it's a pretty big deal! lol Honestly, you have my sincerest thanks. ;D **


	3. A Somewhat Clearer Picture

**Author's Note: Here we go again, still on schedule! This chapter is one of the longest in the whole story, but a lot of information needed to be covered, so please bear with me. :) I want to thank janiekm, a Guest, mb64, missingmikey, need2no, GuestJ, AJTish, reannablue, pryde23, MoonlitShadowsoftheHumanSoul, judyann, Lisa Boon, StyxxsOmega, Zana Zira, Er-BearG32, Nyx Ro, ImpalaLove, SuperVikinggirl, 221BNB, and TG for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! Honestly, the enthusiasm from all of you has just blown me away. :o **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

"Dean Winchester?" the voice on the other end of the phone line asked, and immediately Dean was fully alert.

"Who is this?" he shot back, suspicion and aggression evident in his tone. He found out his brother had no memory, and the same day someone called him up at the motel room that he _just _checked into, who knew him by name? That couldn't be a coincidence and it likely spelled very bad news.

"It's Kevin Tran," The voice answered, and Dean was caught off guard for about the hundredth time since arriving in the town. It occurred to him that the voice _did_ sound like he recalled the young prophet sounding, but still he was skeptical. Especially because the last he'd heard, that same young prophet had been kidnapped by Dick Roman. In other words, he was supposed to be dead.

"Yeah, and how do I know that's not a load of crap?" Dean challenged, not in the mood to get yanked around by some monster.

"I guess you don't," the person claiming to be Kevin replied calmly. "But we need to talk about Sam."

Dean gripped the phone a little tighter. Whoever this was apparently knew Sam's situation, and it seemed likely they were planning to use it against Dean somehow. He needed to find a way to make the best of the predicament, and fast.

"What about him?" Dean questioned, stalling for time.

"Look, I don't really want to do this over the phone. We need to talk in person. Can you meet with me tonight?" So-called 'Kevin' asked.

Dean closed his eyes, those words loudly screaming 'it's a trap' to every single one of his instincts. But he didn't see many options other than springing the trap to find out who the bad guy was.

"Where're you at?" Dean finally responded.

He copied down the address given to him on some motel stationary retrieved from the nightstand, and then 'Kevin' disconnected their call.

"Damn it," Dean sighed before standing to gather his things for the upcoming meeting.

**OoO**

A couple hours later Dean pulled up outside an old, boarded up church. "Yeah, this looks like a totally normal place to meet up," he muttered sarcastically before opening the duffel bag he had brought with him. Inside was a small stash of basic hunting weaponry that he had taken when he left Rufus's cabin.

It wasn't much- just a silver knife, a small iron hatchet, some holy water, and a bag of salt. (The cabin hadn't exactly been stocked for hunting after most of the equipment had gone with him and Sam on their last quest to stop the Leviathans.) And of course, Dean had his trusty pearl-handled .45 and the blade of jagged stone that had survived all of Purgatory with him…

He tucked the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. He also stuffed the flask of holy water into his jacket's inner pocket, along with the silver knife and the hatchet. The stone blade was held at the ready in his hand.

Feeling as prepared as he could be for a fight given his limited supplies, Dean climbed out of the Toyota and began to scope out the church for the best point of entry.

He found two choices: A large and hollow window frame on the side of the Church that was covered only by a lose board, or the back door that was unlocked.

Feeling like the backdoor seemed too obvious, not to mention suspiciously easy, Dean opted for the window. He pulled the board to one side and scanned the room beyond the hole for signs of inhabitants. There was no movement inside, nor was there anything lying around that would indicate someone had been staying there. Dean cautiously climbed through the window gap before allowing the board to slowly fall back into its place behind him.

The church was dark, but a skylight in the room provided enough visibility to maneuver, even as the sun was setting. Dean looked around the room, realizing it was some kind of side office with an old cobweb covered desk and an ornate wooden chair that had been tarnished by the elements. Yet there was no Kevin Tran or any other living creature present. (There was, however, a dead rat in the corner which made Dean cringe.) He crept slowly towards the door leading from the office out to the main church area.

Just as he was about to exit the room a blurred shape moved in front of him, and suddenly he was very wet.

Spitting what turned out to be salted water from his mouth and raising his weapon to retaliate, he was struck again by more liquid, only this time it tasted like cleaning solution. He spat the soapy substance out fast, not wanting to poison himself.

"Now cut your arm with the knife," the same voice from the phone commanded, and a small silver blade slid across the floor to where Dean was standing, drenched from his hair to his waist.

He could finally see clearly again once the water had dripped from his eyes, and he saw Kevin Tran standing there, holding a squirt gun with two separate barrels- one full of water, the other full of soapy liquid. Holy water and Borax to test for demonic possession and Leviathan disguise, Dean was guessing. And now the kid wanted him to cut his arm with a silver knife to prove he wasn't a shape shifter or a revenant. Apparently the boy had learned a few tricks since Dean had last seen him…

"Kevin, I'm not a shifter or-" Dean began, but the prophet interrupted to repeat his instructions firmly, saying, "The knife, Dean."

Sighing, Dean bent slowly to retrieve the blade from the floor, all the while watching Kevin closely. He was pretty sure it really was Kevin, based on the guy's behavior. However, he couldn't be too careful given the odd nature of the situation.

He rose with the silver knife in his hand, rolled up part of his jacket sleeve, and cut a small slice in his flesh until a thin trickle of red blood became visible. He didn't flinch, having endured far worse pains in the past. He dropped the knife and kicked back across the floor towards Kevin's feet.

"Satisfied?" he asked Kevin when he was finished, and the kid lowered his 'weapon' in response.

"Yeah, I am," he said with a smile.

"Good. Because you're next," Dean insisted, lunging forward and stealing the squirt gun in a swift motion while dropping the blade to the floor at the boy's feet. He proceeded to spray Kevin with both the holy water and the Borax, neither causing any reaction other than to make the kid splutter. Then Dean nodded to the knife on the floor, clearly indicating that he expected Kevin to show he was really who he claimed to be.

Kevin reluctantly picked up the knife and made a cut on his own forearm, hissing from the pain, but his skin didn't sizzle and it was obvious he was one hundred percent human.

"Satisfied?" the kid mocked him with a smirk. Dean grinned back, accepting that Kevin really was _Kevin_. Albeit a much less frightened Kevin than Dean remembered dealing with before, but definitely the same prophet.

Dean finally allowed himself to get a good look at the teenager who had apparently escaped the Leviathans. He was a bit thin and his clothes were worn down. He had a five o' clock shadow and dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look entirely clean, either. But he was alive and breathing, and that was what made Dean smile.

"Good to see you're ok, kid," Dean commented with sincerity.

"Yeah, you too," Kevin replied. "When you and that angel disappeared after Dick Roman blew up, I kind of assumed…" his voice trailed off awkwardly. There was no mistaking that Dean had been presumed dead.

"Wait, you saw that?" Dean inquired, not remembering seeing anyone other than Dick, Cas, and his brother in the last moments before he had been sucked into Purgatory.

"Yeah, I was there with Sam," Kevin clarified as if it should have been obvious. Dean felt momentarily bad for having entirely overlooked the kid's presence. But really, he had been a bit preoccupied at the time. However, now that he thought about it he _could_ vaguely remember Kevin standing behind Sam.

But if Kevin had been with Sam, then…

"Kevin, what happened? You said we needed to talk about my brother. That means you know about his memory thing, right? You know what caused it?" Dean blurted out, eager for information.

"Yes and no," Kevin answered, looking hesitant before adding, "This is probably gonna be a long talk. We should sit down." With that he led Dean out to the church pews in the main hall. He gestured for Dean to seat himself in the front row before pulling up an overturned crate to sit on across from him.

"I'll start from where you left off, I guess," Kevin began, launching into an explanation of what had happened to him after Dean vanished.

**OoO**

It took a solid hour for Kevin to explain the events of the past year to Dean, but by the end, the elder Winchester had a clearer picture of what all had gone down in his absence. _Somewhat_ clearer, anyway.

Sam had helped Kevin to escape from the office where he was being held captive at Dick's headquarters, and they had both come rushing to the place where Dean and Cas made their final stand against the head Leviathan. Right after Dean and Cas vanished, Kevin had been kidnapped by Crowley. Then the King of Hell had forced him to read the Demon Tablet, which was apparently nearly exactly like the Leviathan Tablet had been.

Kevin had eventually tricked Crowley and his lackeys by giving them false instructions for how to open a Hell Gate. Instead of helping him open a pathway to Hell on Earth, Kevin had actually led the King to a harmless field and completed a spell in Crowley's absence that killed both demons left behind to stand guard over the prophet. Then Kevin had stolen the tablet and run.

He'd been running ever since.

Of course, being on the lamb didn't mean he hadn't been keeping busy. The first thing he'd done when he got free of the demons had been to try and contact Sam for help, but the number Sam had given him only went to voicemail. So the kid had begun trying to track Sam down via alternate methods.

He started hacking into security camera feeds in the area surrounding Sucracorp, where he'd last seen Sam. That didn't get him anywhere though, so he tried looking around Whitefish Montana, where he'd stayed briefly with the Winchesters in Rufus's cabin.

That was a dead-end also, but then he got the idea to start hacking police and federal files.

"Until all this, I'd never hacked anything more than my girlfriend's email when I thought she was planning to dump me for the head of the Mathletes team," Kevin explained, looking sheepish. "But I figured I needed answers, and it couldn't be too hard."

Dean snorted then and quirked an eyebrow. "Couldn't be too hard?" he repeated. "Dude, do you know how long it took Sam to figure out how to break into the Feds' database?"

A hint of pride showed in Kevin's eyes as he said, "It took me two days. Did I beat your brother's record?"

Dean laughed and said, "Sammy's gonna be embarrassed!" Then Dean thought about how Sam currently couldn't remember ever having cracked the Federal codes anyway, and his amusement ceased. "You said you knew what happened to Sam. So what happened?" he pressed, wanting Kevin to move on to the good part.

"I'm getting there, I promise," Kevin assured him and then continued with his story.

Apparently after breaking into the FBI's website, Kevin had found all the Federal records of Sam and Dean's many misadventures over the years, including everything from the Saint Louis shifter murders Dean had been accused of, to the murder spree their Leviathan copies had gone on shortly before Kevin had met the Winchesters.

"If I hadn't known better, I'd have been convinced you two were deranged serial killers," Kevin commented lightly. "But it turns out finding your Federal records was a smart move, because along with your murder rap, I found all your history of credit card fraud and impersonation of law enforcement officers."

Dean started to catch on then and said, "In other words, you got the list of all our known aliases?"

"Exactly," Kevin affirmed. "So I set up a program on my laptop to track them. That way if Sam used any of his old credit cards or anything like that, I'd know."

Dean nodded his approval, impressed.

"Unfortunately Sam wasn't using any of those names after the Leviathans went on that killing streak dressed up like you guys. But the car he drives is still registered to a 'Steven Tyler', and so when that car got a speeding ticket six months ago, my program recognized the alias and I was able to get Sam's most recent location. You know, _after_ I checked the traffic camera to make sure it wasn't some person really named 'Steven Tyler'," Kevin explained, looking somewhat pleased with himself again.

Aside from Dean being slightly concerned that Sam had apparently received not one, but _two_ speeding tickets while driving his Baby, Dean also realized that the half a year he spent not driving the Impala in order to stay out of the legal lime light was probably worth it now. He had been able to keep her registered under that fake name instead of forging a new registration for a 'Dean Smith' like he'd needed to do for everything else during that period of time he and Sam had been trying to stay under the radar.

However, hearing the name 'Steven Tyler' also reminded Dean of the fact that his brother currently believed he had a dead uncle named 'Bobby Seger', and that left Dean itching to get to the end of Kevin's story again.

"So you found him and…?" Dean asked, hoping this was the part of things where Kevin could explain what had caused Sam to jumble his memories up so badly.

"I found out he was living in this city, Lexington, and I started monitoring the whole area. I hacked a dozen security cameras in the places he would likely visit a lot. The grocery store, the gas station near his apartment, the library…"

Dean smiled then, reminded of how nerdy his little brother was at heart. Even near-strangers could guess the library would be Sam's idea of a good time.

"I watched him for a long time. For about a week I just kept track of what he was up to each day," Kevin explained.

"You stalker," teased Dean, but Kevin just continued with a serious expression, saying, "Remember that murder spree Leviathan 'Sam' went on? Or the demons that I ticked off who can possess people? I had to be sure it was really him and that he wasn't dangerous."

Dean had to agree that Kevin had made the right call there, so he didn't comment further.

"Anyway, I basically saw him living a totally average life for that entire week. He worked as a household appliance repair guy, he took care of his dog, and he never did anything even slightly societally unacceptable. He gave himself a super normal name, too. 'Robert Johnson'," Kevin said. "So I decided he was safe to visit. I took a bus to Lexington the next day, stopped by his apartment, and figured out within the first two minutes that he didn't have a clue who I was."

"You too, huh?" Dean stated dryly.

Kevin gave him a sympathetic look and kept talking. "I checked his medical records next, because I thought maybe he'd had some kind of head injury, you know?"

"Did he?" Dean asked quickly, though he thought he could guess the answer.

"No," Kevin confirmed Dean's suspicions. "He hasn't even been to the hospital for anything in the past year, except one time he got his finger stitched at an Urgent Care for a repair accident. So then I thought maybe he'd had some kind of a spell done to him or something by the demons, but it just doesn't fit. I mean, why would demons bother to wipe his mind when they could just kill him, you know?"

"So if it isn't a demon curse or a head injury, what did it?" Dean asked the million dollar question with an exasperated tone.

"Honestly, I don't know what it was. I just know what it wasn't," Kevin answered.

"You could've opened with that," Dean grumbled, but when he noticed Kevin deflate with apparent guilt, he added, "Thanks for taking the time to tell me all this though." Dean knew the kid had no need to blame himself for not having all the answers. It was just frustrating as hell to not know why Sam was so mixed up.

Then a thought struck him.

"Hey, how did you track _me_ down?" Dean asked, genuinely curious. He was usually a pretty hard guy to find, and after learning a few tricks from Frank Devereaux the previous year, he prided himself on his ability to stay below the radar.

Kevin shrugged and said, "I told you. I have a program that monitors your aliases. You used a credit card registered to a 'Herman Munster' both times you fueled up on the way here. It didn't take a genius to figure out you were headed toward Sam, so I went the same direction. I was only a couple hours outside Lexington when you checked into your motel with that card. I called you a few hours after that, so you'd have time to have gone to see Sam for yourself just in case you hadn't yet. It was pretty simple, really."

Dean remembered the old credit cards he'd taken from Rufus's cabin- he'd used the same one this whole trip so far, too worried about his brother to pay much attention to the name on the plastic. He had to give praise where it was deserved. "Well I guess that whole 'advanced placement' thing is really coming in handy for you, isn't it?" he joked, hoping Kevin would see the compliment in his words. The prophet smiled again and said,"I aced computer science in high school," and Dean chuckled. Then the boy's face grew serious once more as he added, "Dean, there's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about. Something bigger than just Sam."

Dean looked skeptical that anything could be 'bigger' than Sam. His brother was the most important thing in the world in his eyes. Nothing could top that.

Kevin seemed to read the hunter's expression because he quickly amended his statement to say, "I mean it's something Sam would think was important, too."

Dean mentally prepared himself for more earth-shattering revelations, because apparently the universe thought his day hadn't contained enough of them.

**OoO**

"So let me get this straight. You want me to help you shut Hell up. Forever?" Dean asked, trying to wrap his mind around what Kevin had requested.

"That's the general idea, yes," replied the boy matter-of-factly.

From all the prophet had just told him, Dean gathered that Kevin had stolen the Demon Tablet and had been reading what little of it he could over the past year. He had started by finding information about warding against demons and preventing them from tracking him, which had made it possible for him to evade Crowley for so long.

Then he began learning about defense against demons, like the spell he'd been able to kill two of them with during his escape from Crowley, as well as what sorts of things hurt them. Hence his knowledge of holy water being a good test for demonic possession.

However, in his quest for this kind of knowledge he had stumbled across something huge: A section of the tablet with instructions for locking Hell and trapping all demons permanently in the Pit.

Needless to say, it had seemed like a useful topic to continue reading up on.

This discovery was recent though- only noticed within the past month- and Kevin had yet to crack much of the code for how to do it. All he knew so far was that closing Hell was possible, and that he'd likely need help to do it.

Which is where Dean came in.

Kevin hadn't continued to keep track of the aliases just for the sake of making sure Sam didn't get into trouble. He had also been sure that if Dean turned out to still be alive somehow, then he'd probably go to his brother first thing, and he _might_ use an old credit card to do it. It had been a good guess.

During the wait to see if Dean would ever return from his status of 'MIA', Kevin had looked into other forms of threats, too, and that had led him to lore on all the things that go bump in the night. Which is how he had known to test Dean with the silver knife as well.

Basically, the kid had been doing his homework during the forced time-out from his previously normal life. Now he had a solid understanding of how to defend against and avoid demons, as well as the basics of a hunter's defense.

Dean found himself feeling proud of the young prophet for having embraced his circumstances so well. It was a far cry from the scared person he'd met in Castiel's psych ward just over a year ago- the boy who had screamed 'what is happening' and had hyperventilated about having to factor 'the Supernatural' into his existence.

"Ok, so what's your plan for doing this?" Dean inquired.

"Well I think we should go pretty deep into hiding while I translate from the tablet how to lock Hell. When I know how to do it, then you can help me with the harder parts, since I'm guessing it won't be easy. I know how to ward off a demon, and in theory I know how to fight one. But I'm not actually trained and I'm definitely not suicidal," Kevin insisted, "If a demon needs to be hunted down or confronted, that's got to be on you."

"Whoa, wait. Go back to the part about going 'pretty deep into hiding'," Dean commanded, suddenly getting a bad feeling about what Kevin was asking him for.

Kevin paused for a moment, looking uncomfortable.

"I think we need to find someplace off the map and work this out there," Kevin stated, not looking Dean in the eye.

"You mean leave Lexington. You want me to leave _Sam_," Dean accused.

Kevin's silence was his answer.

"No," Dean declared sharply. "Either we do this here where I can watch my brother and try to help him figure himself out, or we don't do this at all."

Kevin looked truly regretful then, as if he genuinely didn't like requesting something so difficult of Dean. But there was determination in his eyes, too, as he said, "Dean, if the demons ever figure out you're here they're going to come for Sam first thing because they'll see an opportunity to use him to get to you. I was only around Crowley a short time, but I got the feeling he'd love to kill you both. And if they find you Dean, then they find me. If they find me, they find the Demon Tablet. And then it's all over."

Dean clenched his teeth for a moment and bit back the torrent of angry insults he wanted to hurl at the kid in front of him for having even considered telling Dean to leave his brother's side. But he also had to remember that it wasn't Kevin's fault what he said made logical sense. It's the kind of argument Sam would have come up with…

Kevin added mournfully, "I haven't been able to see my own mother for the same reasons. If they find a way to use her against me, then there's no chance. So I've had to stay away."

Dean understood, he really did, and he knew Kevin was only being responsible.

But Dean couldn't bring himself to leave his brother so vulnerable, because Kevin was definitely right about one thing. Demons could come for Sam at any time. And if they went after him while he wasn't able to defend himself at all- with no memories and willing to let total strangers walk into his home- he'd be dead meat.

"I get what you're saying, but I'm not leaving Sam alone like this. He's a bigger target than your mom, Kevin, trust me. It's a miracle something hasn't come and killed him already! I mean screw just Crowley. There's a list a mile long of asshats who would skin Sam just on principle... I won't risk that happening now that I'm back," Dean stated firmly.

The prophet opened his mouth to argue, but Dean cut him off, adding, "We can use the warding you learned and we can work from this church. I'll keep my room at the motel so if the demons ever trace me they won't immediately end up at your door. And I can keep an eye on Sam. Try and make him remember…" Dean was almost talking to himself now, listing off the plan of action and attempting to come to terms with how complicated his day had become, "And we'll look into other things that might have caused Sam to go all amnesiac, ok?" Dean finished the question with a firm tone that made it clear it wasn't really a question at all.

Kevin didn't object, instead nodding once and agreeing with a quiet, "Ok." But he still looked reluctant about the plan. Dean couldn't let himself feel guilty about forcing the prophet to do things his way though, because when it came down to it, he had more important matters than closing Hell to worry about.

He had a little brother to protect, and hopefully, to somehow make remember himself again.

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**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! No cliffhanger this time, but it looks like Dean has his plate full of responsibilities now, doesn't it? I wonder how that will all turn out for him... lol Feedback is truly appreciated, so please don't be shy! ;)  
**


	4. Off To A Good Start

**Author's Note: It seems a lot of you are happy to see Kevin in this story, which makes me very glad! And now, is anyone up for more Sam and Dean? ;) But before we commence with the chapter, I want to thank janiekm, 221BNB, TG, GuestJ, Zana Zira, mb64, pryde23, StyxxsOmega, AJTish, HilaNamerchuk, jojospn, ImpalaLove, reannablue, and Er-BearG32 for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! Really you guys, you're all fantastic. :D **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

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The rest of Dean's evening was spent telling Kevin about his time in Purgatory, because naturally the kid had expressed curiosity about Dean's past year as well. Then the hunter and the prophet finished their visit with combined efforts in setting up extensive warding all around and inside the abandoned church to ensure Kevin's safety while he stayed there to work on the translations.

The prophet had already covered the basics before Dean's arrival, but the hunter was able to contribute to a larger expanse of symbols and sigils that would prove more effective at deterring invaders than devil's traps and simple anti-tracking paintings would alone. Dean even showed Kevin some of the wards to keep angels from interrupting things.

"You can never be too careful with those winged dicks," Dean had said when he instructed Kevin on how to draw the anti-angel markings. Kevin had then asked why Dean had trusted Castiel if he didn't trust angels in general, but upon seeing the way Dean's face went from relaxed to dark and reserved, he appeared to remember Dean explaining that Cas hadn't been as lucky in the escape from Purgatory, because the kid wisely chose not mention that particular angel again.

Dean was grateful that Kevin let the matter drop. He had enough on his mind right then without adding the guilt of Castiel's fate in Purgatory to the list. It wasn't that he had forgotten his friend, and he certainly didn't feel entitled to forgive himself for leaving the angel behind in that wasteland. But since nothing could be done to solve the problem, Dean would rather save the thoughts for later, when he had a nice bottle of whiskey for company instead of a curious teenager.

By the time they finished applying the protective designs to the church's walls, the sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon and the building's interior was dark, save for the electric lanterns Kevin had set up. Apparently he had come prepared for a night's stay and over the past year he had gotten used to squatting in empty buildings that lacked electricity.

Finally, when no more painting was necessary, Dean said goodbye to the prophet and agreed to meet with him later the next day to discuss what might be needed for the translations. He gave Kevin his current cell number, too, in case they got separated again somehow.

Then Dean left and drove to the motel across the town, longing for a drink and a few more hours of sleep. He stopped at a mini-mart on the way back and purchased a six-pack of beer and a bag of beef jerky. It wasn't exactly the best dinner one could hope for, but it was better than nothing.

Dean made it back to his motel room and threw the bag of jerky onto the twin bed farthest from the door- the bed that usually would have been Sam's.

The elder Winchester sighed, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that his sibling had forgotten him. He wanted desperately to believe that getting Sam to remember everything would be as simple as going and talking to the guy, but he'd had enough experience with his own luck to know the odds weren't in his favor for simplicity.

In fact, even if he were to sit down with 'Robert Johnson' and tell him the truth about who he really was, the most likely outcome would be a door slamming in his face and then never getting to see Sam again because he would definitely think Dean was crazy.

No, the safest course of action would be to try and work himself more into Sam's new life. Hang out with him, get to know 'Robert' better, and hope that somewhere along the line something would change and Sam would remember his real identity.

Again, Dean doubted he would get that lucky. But it was better than scaring his brother away forever. In the meantime, Dean would research everything he could about memory loss phenomena and see what might have happened.

His talk with Kevin earlier had made him wonder if perhaps angels had been involved. After all, Dean knew better than most that angels were capable of altering the memories of humans. Zachariah had manipulated Sam and Dean both into thinking they were regular humans- not even related, actually- in an attempt to convince him to fall into line with Heaven's big plan. And Cas had erased Dean from the minds of Lisa and Ben Braeden at Dean's request after the woman and her son had nearly died because of their involvement with him.

But somehow Dean couldn't bring himself to believe that angels were behind this. For starters, he couldn't think of anything the angels would gain out of forcing Sam to forget himself, and angels never did anything without a motive. Yet it was also because the angels hadn't demonstrated a direct interest in the Winchesters since Castiel had swallowed the souls from Purgatory and ended Raphael's attempts to rule Heaven. When Hester and Inais had come to steal Kevin a year ago they had threatened Dean and Sam, but it was only after Castiel had stood in the way of their mission. It hadn't seemed like they really cared about the Winchesters specifically.

Dean concluded that he couldn't officially rule out angel Memorex as a culprit, but he would keep looking for other causations as well. And hopefully something would turn up in his research to reveal a solution.

Of course if he didn't want to care about finding the root of the problem to fix it, there was always the less conventional option of trying to find a spell or a charm that could unlock Sam's memories. True, that method was always more dangerous. But if worse came to worse, Dean would take the risk. He couldn't let Sam keep going like this, could he?

_Keep going like what? Happy? _Dean thought, remembering how content Sam had looked with his apartment and his dog. He even had some girl calling him over all the time to fix her crap, which definitely meant she was flirting. So maybe Sam was enjoying life as 'Robert'. Did Dean really want to go and screw that up for him?

_He's not happy, he's just confused. He would want to have his memories back,_ Dean tried to assure himself, but doubt was still lurking in the back of his mind. He grabbed a can of beer from of the six-pack and carried the rest to the mini-fridge. He opened the metal box and groaned when he felt no burst of cool air coming from the machine.

"Broken. Great," Dean muttered, but then he had a thought.

Sam had said he was a repairman for appliances… Tomorrow Dean could go and ask him to fix the fridge! It was a decent icebreaker. He'd have to pay him, of course. It wouldn't do to go asking favors after supposedly just meeting the man. But money wasn't important. The main thing was that Dean had a legitimate reason to talk to Sam again.

It was a good start to his plan to try and get closer to 'Robert'.

Dean drank his beer and reached for another before turning on the motel tv. He didn't want to waste the alcohol by letting it get warm again, so he stayed up for the next couple hours finishing half of the six-pack and watching crappy television until he fell asleep with the remote in his hand.

He was on the bed farthest from the door, and his last thought before he drifted off was that he shouldn't be sleeping on his brother's bed.

**OoO**

The next morning Dean got a text message from Kevin telling him not to come to the church until later that night because he needed to set up his workspace before Dean got there. Apparently the kid was a bit OCD about his papers and whatnot, but Dean wasn't complaining. It gave him time to stop by Sam's apartment and set his plan into motion.

Dean walked over to the apartment this time, since it was only a block from the motel. It was also just after ten AM when he headed over, because he wanted to avoid becoming known as the awkward neighbor who knocked at ungodly hours.

The hunter rang the doorbell to Sam's apartment once, and this time the taller man answered almost immediately, Dean the Dog by his side. Sam was carrying a container of tools in one hand and looked a lot more put-together than he had the previous morning.

It was pretty clear he was getting ready to go somewhere, and from the look of the tool box, 'somewhere' was probably 'to work'.

"Morning Robert," Dean said cheerfully, trying to sound casual but friendly. It was something he could normally pull off with his brother without a thought, but somehow it felt forced now. "And good morning…Dean," he added, hesitating slightly as he said the dog's name. The dog just looked up at him and wagged his tail.

Sam smiled politely in return and greeted, "Morning Garth. What's up?"

Well at least he didn't seem bothered that Dean was back so soon, and Dean chose to take that as a good sign.

"So yesterday you told me you do repair work, and the mini fridge at my motel just crapped out on me this morning. I called the guy at the front desk about it but he said his usual maintenance guy is sick and it could be a few days. I was wondering if I could pay you to come take a look at it?" Dean implored, hoping he didn't sound too desperate.

"Well, I'm on my way to work a couple of jobs right now, but I should be done by about four-thirty or five. I could swing by then if that works for you?" Sam replied, either not noticing how strongly Dean wanted to hang out, or not caring.

Dean smiled and answered, "That would be great. I'm still at the _Home Suite Home Inn_ just down the street. Room 146."

Sam pulled out his smartphone and typed himself a note with the information. "Got it," he said.

"Well I'll let you get going then," Dean insisted, stepping off the porch and to the side so Sam could leave for work. Sam told Dean the Dog to stay in the apartment (and didn't Dean the Human feel plain weird hearing Sam say, "Stay, Dean. _Stay_. Good boy!"), then Sam closed the door and locked it before heading towards the parked Impala. He waved a quick farewell as he climbed into the vehicle and drove off.

Dean watched his brother and his Baby driving away and couldn't help but to feel rather uncomfortable at being left behind.

**OoO**

Between eleven AM and four-thirty PM, Dean was surprisingly nervous. Now that he was over the initial shock of Sam not knowing who he was, he was starting to feel worried about hanging out with him. Not because he didn't want to be around Sam, but because he felt unsure that Sam would want to be around_ him_.

He kept having flashbacks to the time a djinn had drugged him and he had dreamed of a life in which he and his brother had never become hunters. And as a result of that average lifestyle, Sam had never bonded with him. Would this be any different? They didn't have the hunt to connect through now, either. Hell, they didn't even have the label of 'family' to help smooth things over! At least back in the djinn world Sam had still acknowledged they were related. 'Robert' didn't have any reason at all to feel close to 'Garth', and the thought was very unsettling for Dean. He didn't really want to consider what would happen if Sam decided he didn't like his company in this state of mind.

So Dean passed the afternoon with nervous fidgeting, bad daytime television, and failed attempts at not thinking about worst case scenarios.

He was actually relieved when the knock on his motel door finally came. Even though it was the moment of truth, at least the anticipation would be over with. Dean stood by the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

There was Sam, toolbox in hand and smiling. "Hey!" the taller man greeted him cheerfully.

Seeing that image, Dean couldn't help but recall the many times his little brother had delivered various wrenches and sockets to him from a toolbox while he worked on the Impala. As a teenager Sam had been eager to hand Dean the tools. As an adult he had denied how much he enjoyed hanging out with Dean while the older man worked on the car- opting to tease Dean about his connection to the vehicle instead- yet he somehow always gravitated towards a seat on their cooler nearby, and would reach into the toolbox for whatever Dean needed without complaint. They would talk the whole time and then drink a beer together when it was over with. No matter how much the younger man claimed he didn't feel attached to the tradition, he never failed to be there- always looking like he felt he was doing his part to help fix up the car. Dean suspected that, even grown up, Sam had still been the proud little boy who had been so interested in assisting; he just didn't want to show it.

Pushing past the wave of nostalgia, Dean smiled back and said, "Hey! Thanks for coming."

Dean moved aside so Sam could enter and the younger man walked into the motel room, strolling toward the bed farthest from the door and tossing his jacket down there before sitting on the edge. It was something Dean had seen Sam do a thousand times before, and for just a moment it was as if nothing had changed.

Then Sam looked up and questioned, "So Garth, you still need that fridge looked at, right?" and the moment was broken.

Dean realized that he had been staring and not saying anything about the reason Sam was there, so he quickly nodded and answered with a, "Yeah. It's on the floor to your left."

Sam turned and spotted the machine on the ground under a small counter fitted into the motel's far wall, and he left the bed to crouch next to it. After a few minutes of inspecting all sides of the machine Sam announced, "It's just some frayed wiring. I've got some electrical tape that should solve the problem."

Dean did his best to look like he was pleased about the news that the fridge would be such a simple fix, but he really couldn't care less about the little metal box. He was actually kind of disappointed that it wouldn't take Sam a while to repair. He'd been hoping they could talk more…

"I'll be right back. The tape is in the trunk," Sam said and then headed through the door again towards the Impala parked out front. He was back in front of the fridge in no time, this time peeling sleek black tape off a small roll and wrapping it carefully around the frayed middle of some wires in the mini fridge's mechanisms. It was honestly something Dean could have done himself, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"You're all set," Sam stated when he completed the task of coating the wires in electrical tape. "I'd give it the rest of the day to cool down again inside, but by tomorrow it should be ok."

Dean nodded in understanding and thanked 'Robert' for having taken the time to come and help out. "What do I owe you?" he added, reaching for his wallet to retrieve the cash he had gotten on his way back to the motel earlier.

"Nothing," Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It took all of ten minutes. Just consider it a 'welcome to the neighborhood' present."

Dean smiled, reminded of how generous his little brother had always been with people. "Really though man, I owe you _something_. How about I buy you a beer?" Dean said, hoping for the chance to sit and hang out with Sam a while longer. Perhaps sharing a beer or two at some dive bar might bring back memories for Sam. Goodness knows they'd done enough of that together over the years…

"Well I've already got beer at my place," Sam said, "But there's a basketball game on tonight I wanted to watch, if you're interested?"

"Who's playing?" Dean asked casually, though he already knew he'd agree to those plans whether it was a team he cared about or not.

"Jayhawks versus the Tigers," Sam said. "I'm pulling for the Jayhawks."

Dean grinned then and replied, "I'm a Jayhawks man myself, actually. Born in Kansas."

"Really?" Sam inquired, seeming pleasantly surprised. "That's where my uncle lived, and he was huge on the Jayhawks. He took me to one of their games for my tenth birthday."

Dean saw a look of happy reminiscence pass over Sam's face, and he felt another rush of memories himself. Because _he_ had in fact been the one to arrange with Bobby that they would take Sam to a Jayhawks game for the kid's tenth birthday, and Sam had claimed it was the best gift ever as the they all cheered the team on to victory. Apparently it really was a good memory for Sam, since he had kept it even in his current muddled state of mind.

Except he thought his uncle Bobby had been the only one to take him.

Dean fought against the distress that came with knowing somewhere along the lines, _he _had been entirely forgotten, save for the dog that was named after him. And really, that still confused him. He'd been killed by damn _hellhounds_. You'd think his brother would choose to keep his name far away from dogs after that, right?

Dean shook the thoughts away and said, "I can't say no to beers and a Jayhawks game with a fellow fan," trying not to let his emotions shine through.

He must have been successful because Sam just gathered his tools together and said, "Sounds like a plan then! You can ride back with me if you want," and headed for the door, grabbing his jacket off the bed as he went. Dean picked up his own jacket from the back of a chair next to the little motel table in the corner, and they were on their way.

They walked toward the Impala, Sam leading. The taller man walked right up to the sleek black vehicle, but went for the passenger door instead of the driver's seat. It was something Dean was so used to that he actually walked up to the driver's door then himself, but when he got there he realized he didn't have the keys. And then remembered why.

"Oh man, I must be tired," Sam laughed off his own mistake as he removed his hand from the passenger door handle and walked around to where Dean was standing. "Forgot I was driving."

Dean laughed too, but he doubted Sam had 'forgotten' anything.

More like 'remembered'.

Dean felt hopeful as he moved around the car to climb into the other seat.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Coming up next, some Dean!angst and some Sam/Robert!angst, and after that things get..._complicated _for the boys. lol Also, feedback is greatly appreciated, so please don't be shy! :D **

**Special Note To GuestJ: I'm honored that you consider my story to be "important reading". I place your comments in the same category. ;) **


	5. An Undesired Possibility

**Author's Note: I'm still on schedule. Yay! To celebrate, is anyone up for a little dose of angst? lol Before we begin, I want to thank janiekm, Zana Zira, LisaBoon, need2no, AJTish, TG, judyann, HilaNamerchuk, mb64, GuestJ, sarah, a Guest, StyxxsOmega, and Er-BearG32 for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

The two men spent the rest of the evening chatting about the game as they watched on Sam's tv, and they drank more than a beer each. All the while Dean the Dog stayed curled up at Sam's feet, clearly not paying attention to the basketball match taking place on the screen, but enraptured by his human companion. Sam would lean down to absently rub the dog's ears every few minutes, and the dog was in Heaven.

Dean the Human was actually feeling pretty darn happy, too. It was still painful to have Sam next to him and yet not quite have his little brother there, but it seemed that even as supposed strangers who had only met a day before, they made a good pair.

Dean's earlier fears that his brother wouldn't want his company if he couldn't remember they were related were obviously ill-founded. As it turned out, Sam seemed to enjoy Dean's company plenty. They joked about the terrible plays the opposing team made during the game, cheered together when the Jayhawks scored twice in a row, and chatted about life in general during the commercial breaks.

Altogether it was the kind of perfect evening Dean rarely got to have with Sam, given their usual routine of working and then marinating in the tension that work had generated between them. Yet despite the pleasantness of it, there was still the looming cloud of Sam's missing memories for Dean to worry about. No matter how much he enjoyed spending time relaxing with his brother, he wouldn't be fully at ease until Sam _knew _he was his brother.

Dean left later that night to meet with Kevin, assuring 'Robert' that he was fine to walk back to his motel and didn't need a ride. Sam looked like he was feeling pretty tired anyway, and Dean definitely didn't want to inconvenience him.

As he walked to the motel to grab the Camry he was still driving, Dean tried to come up with ways to reactivate Sam's memories. Maybe just hanging out _would_ be enough. That little moment with the Impala earlier had seemed to indicate so…

Maybe this situation could be resolved easier than he'd thought.

**OoO**

Robert watched Garth walk away from the apartment and out toward the road before closing the door and returning to his couch. He sighed tiredly as he looked at his living room. There were more than a couple empty bottles of _El Sol_ beer lying around, and Robert smiled at the memory of how happy Garth seemed when he had been told that was the brand they would be drinking.

"Oh yeah! I haven't had it in a while, but it's my favorite," Garth had insisted when Robert asked if _El Sol_ was ok. The man had looked genuinely pleased when he cracked into the first cold bottle of the night and they settled in on the couch in the front room to watch the game.

He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about his new neighbor that made Robert feel…

Well, Robert wasn't quite certain how to identify the feeling.

He knew that he liked seeing Garth happy. Whenever the guy smiled, Robert wanted to smile too. It gave him this sense of _rightness_. As if all the world was in proper order. He also felt more comfortable around Garth than any of the other neighbors he had met so far, and that was saying a lot given the fact that he had lived in this apartment for almost a year, and he'd met Garth only a day ago. He knew his neighbors by name and greeted them each day, but somehow Garth was different.

Heck, Robert had opened up to the guy about his entire childhood, even discussing the death of his uncle. Robert _never _talked to people about that so freely. It was still too fresh a wound. But somehow being around Garth had lessened the sting. The pain was there, but distant. It was how Robert imagined the support of such a good friend would feel.

Except that Garth wasn't a good friend. They had only met a day ago…

Robert rubbed his temple, feeling a sudden headache coming on. It wasn't too bad, and he chalked it up to a long day and a little too much beer.

Robert glanced down at his dog to find the Australian Shepherd wagging his tail as he met his owner's gaze. "What do you think of him Dean?" Robert asked his furry companion. The animal was panting happily, but looked drowsy. He yawned once and rested his head on his paws, still staring up at Robert.

"Yeah, I hear you. Time for bed," the man said, gathering up the beer bottles from the coffee table into his arms and carrying them to his recycling bin. Once the mess from the evening was cleaned up, Robert and his dog walked to the bedroom. His head still hurt a bit, but he ignored it and within ten minutes both the man and his K9 were settled down to sleep.

**OoO**

Over the next week and a half Dean spent an increasingly large amount of time with Sam, because as it turned out Kevin was a very finicky tablet translator, requiring absolute quiet while working so he could maintain his focus. Dean, on the other hand, could not stand to wait around in complete silence. They had butted heads a few times regarding Dean's need to strike up conversation every ten minutes or so before at last Kevin had come up with a way for things to work between them.

Kevin was more of a night owl and could therefore do most of his translations in the late evenings through to the wee-morning hours. Then he would sleep for five hours or so and Dean would come over to the church at around ten in the morning. At which time they would begin working together on interpretations.

Since Dean was an outright hindrance to Kevin's progress with actual translations, Dean would only be helping Kevin to make sense of the words the prophet had managed to get into English. (The Word of God was apparently packed full of cryptic symbolism and obscure ancient phrasing that involved knowing or researching the way the meaning of words had changed over the centuries.) It was not a fun job, but so far it was the only part of things that Dean could lend a hand with, and he felt he owed Kevin after having been missing for the whole year in Purgatory while the kid had been forced to cope on his own.

The result of this arrangement, however, was that Dean was busy during the daytime when Sam was usually working, and free in the evenings when he wasn't.

And much to Dean's delight, Sam had taken to spending his free time with Dean.

Though Sam still believed he was 'Robert Johnson', and still was under the impression that Dean was 'Garth Winston', they had been having plenty of fun together. Sam had walked his dog down to the motel the day after the Jayhawks game and asked Dean if he wanted to join them on a stroll. The older man agreed, and so Sam had shown him his favorite park in the neighborhood to take the dog for a walk. Ever since then Dean had joined Sam and Dean the Dog for their evening excursions. Sometimes they would go to the park and sometimes they would walk the dog into the town, but every time they went anywhere, they talked.

One night they'd left later than normal, when it was already fully dark, and they had stopped in a field near the back of the park to sit and watch the stars.

Dean wished desperately that Sam was himself enough to remember just how many times the two of them had gazed up at the little specs of light together, but he was still able to enjoy the peaceful moment with Sam safely by his side. Dean even relaxed enough to stroke Dean the Dog's fur while they sat there. The animal approved, giving a happy sigh as he curled against the side of the human's leg.

"Can I ask you something Garth?" Sam suddenly spoke up, breaking the moment of calm and quiet.

"Sure," Dean replied, wondering what was on his little brother's mixed-up mind.

"Do you believe a person can be cursed?" the taller man asked, turning a concerned gaze toward his friend.

For just a second Dean was struck by how much the man staring at him looked exactly like the Sam Winchester he'd been without over the past week. The guy's eyes were full of emotions and sincerity, but also hope that Dean would have an answer to help ease his worries. It was the face of a little brother asking a big brother for strength.

And it was difficult to see it and yet to know that wasn't the reality of the situation.

Dean pushed those feelings aside though to address the question posed to him. "What do you mean by 'cursed'?" he inquired slowly, wondering if maybe magic had something to do with Sam's condition.

"I told you about my uncle before, remember?" Sam asked, hesitating a little on the word 'uncle'. It was obviously still a rough subject for him.

"Yeah. Your uncle Bobby, right?" Dean replied, trying to sound like the name wasn't deeply ingrained in his memory.

"Right," Sam affirmed. "When he died, I just sort of got this feeling like…" his voice trailed off, and Dean had a hunch he knew what feeling Sam had gotten. "Like I was cursed," Sam finally explained. "Actually, it was more like I _was _a curse," he added, looking wary of how strange the statement may sound.

Dean was reminded of the many conversations he'd had with his brother over the years about how being a Winchester seemed to mean losing everyone you grew close to…

And he wasn't at all sure what to say to Sam to make him feel better, especially since he couldn't even go into the kind of detail he normally would.

Sam didn't notice how conflicted Dean looked, however, and he kept talking. "When I lost my uncle, I felt like… Like the people who look after me always end up dead because of it. I mean both my parents died in a fire that started in my room, and then my uncle…" Sam looked at the grass then, his shaggy hair falling in his face as his shoulders slumped a little.

"Your uncle died because of a bomb on the job, right? So how could that be your fault?" Dean asked, trying to at least get Sam to stop blaming himself unnecessarily. Sam was silent for a second, and Dean thought he had succeeded.

But then Sam spoke again and Dean knew it wouldn't be so easy.

"I was late that day," Sam answered, his voice suddenly much more quiet.

Dean barely heard the words, but they spoke volumes to him. He knew Sam was about to tell him something big. Even as 'Robert', Sam had certain emotional tells that Dean could read like a book, and the 'soft voice' was one of them- a sure sign that he was about to spill something that had been eating him up inside. So instead of saying anything in response, Dean waited patiently for the younger man to explain more.

"I was supposed to meet up with my uncle that day but I was late and he got pulled away by his partner to look into a security threat at a local warehouse. There was an explosion while they were in there." Sam explained in a hollow voice. "My only family died because I was late to meet up with him," he added, voice barely above a whisper as he uttered the last sentence.

Sam was silent then, and Dean was too. Sam was staring at the grass and petting his dog's fur absently. He was avoiding eye contact with Dean, who was avoiding having to reply to that story for as long as he could.

Because the story had hurt.

Obviously Sam felt so damn guilty about when Bobby was captured by Dick Roman at that warehouse, and about how he was shot because they were too late to save him. He wasn't sure how the gunshot had been twisted into a bomb, but the bottom line was the same: Sam was, even without his true memories, really _grieving_ Bobby's death. He cared so much about his surrogate father that he was doing his full-on 'emo Sam' thing over it.

Now, Dean missed Bobby with everything in him, too. But some part of him wondered how it was possible that Sam had so much residual grief regarding Bobby…

Yet he didn't have a single damn thought about _Dean_.

There was still no indication that Dean had even existed at all in the life Sam had now. No mention of a brother or a friend or anything that sounded close to Dean, and that effected Dean in ways he couldn't put into words.

But looking at Sam- seeing the obvious pain radiating from the younger man- Dean forced himself to stop being so selfish with his feelings. Sam was hurting too, and whether or not the kid believed he was some guy named 'Robert' who never had a brother, it didn't change the fact that Dean would always do his best to make Sam feel better.

So Dean said, "You couldn't have known."

"I know you're right, but still..." he replied, not looking up. "And I just think about how much I want to have a family and a life, you know? A wife, kids, the whole nine. But then every time I _do_ think that, I wonder if a wife and kids is even in the cards for me, with my track record for family and all…"

Dean had no idea what to say to that. It was exactly the kind of subject he usually tried to dodge with Sam, since every time it seemed to come down to crushing the kid by reminding him that Winchesters weren't cut out for the apple pie life because something nasty would always stomp on that pie in the end… Or he would change the subject.

Dean went with that option and asked, "What brought this kind of thinking on?"

"The past couple of weeks, I don't know. I've just been thinking about my uncle a lot I guess, and that led to other thoughts…" Sam answered.

Dean caught the words 'the past couple of weeks' and immediately realized that Sam's darker thoughts had begun with Dean's reemergence in his life. He might not have remembered Dean, but apparently the mere presence of his sibling was enough to set Sam off on an emotional decline.

Maybe that's why Sam had let go of Dean completely in his memories... Maybe Dean was just a dark cloud, and forgetting him was an escape?

And here Dean was trying to get him to remember everything by constantly following him around, but really it was only making Sam confused and depressed as his brain tried to sort through old garbled memories that he probably didn't even want. Sam had been just fine in all other regards up until Dean showed up, too... He'd survived an entire year without anything tracking him down to hurt him.

It killed Dean to even think it, but maybe Sam was actually better off without him?

If Dean and Kevin really could successfully close the gates of Hell forever, then Sam stood the best chance he could get at eventually building the sort of life for himself he'd always wanted- normal, a wife and kids, a regular job… No hunting, and most importantly, no demons knocking at his door. Perhaps Sam would be happier if Dean just left him be to continue his peaceful life as Robert Johnson. It was an undesired possibility, but...

Maybe Dean was just holding Sam back because he couldn't fathom life without a brother, when Sam had already built a life without his.

Dean's melancholy train of thought was interrupted as Sam glanced up at him with a befuddled expression, like he was only just realizing everything he'd shared. "Man, I keep spilling my guts to you, don't I?" he joked, though his tone was still a bit reserved. The taller man rubbed a hand into his temple briefly and added, "Must be these damn headaches I keep getting. I think they're messing with my verbal filter."

"Nah, I just have one of those faces people open up to I guess," Dean said with a forced smile, and Sam managed a small laugh in return.

"Must be that," the younger man played along with the joke. He sighed and then gathered up Dean the Dog's leash in one hand, saying, "I'm ready to leave, are you?"

Dean the Human stood up and brushed bits of grass and leaves off of his jeans. "Yeah, I think I might be," he responded, his words carrying a much greater weight than the other man was aware.

He knew he had a lot to consider.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Coming up next, complications galore for the boys! ;D If you have a moment, please do leave a comment. Feedback is amazing and sincerely appreciated. :) **


	6. Big Trouble

**Author's Note: Alright everyone, I hope you're all ready for the intensity to kick up a notch! ;) Before we begin I want to thank TG, janiekm, Zana Zira, StyxxsOmega, AJTish, GuestJ, HilaNamerchuk, mb64, pryde23, reannablue, need2no, judyann, ImpalaLove, Lewlou15, sarah, jojospn, and Er-BearG32 for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

The next day Dean was in a sour mood as he arrived at the abandoned church to work with Kevin.

He was under-rested since he'd spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, and when he had finally fallen into a deep enough sleep, he'd had a nightmare.

He'd watched Sam walk backwards into a crowd of people, a blank look on his face as he stared at Dean. The deeper into the crowd Sam got, the more he smiled. But he frowned every time Dean called out to him, until he was too far away to hear Dean's shouting anymore. Then Sam cheerfully faded away with the strangers, and Dean was left behind.

Alone.

Needless to say, Dean wasn't in the best of spirits as he entered the rundown building to spend hours staring at confusing tablet talk.

"Dean!" Kevin greeted with more energy than usual when he saw the hunter approaching the work-station that had been set up. (They had dragged the worn down desk and armchair from the side office into the main hall for Kevin to use.)

The prophet looked like he had news to share, but he appeared nervous, too.

_So bad news then, _Dean thought to himself darkly.

"Dean, I think-" Kevin began, but some of Dean's irritability and weariness must have been showing, because he stopped short at the sight of Dean's face.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"Well, I think I was wrong before about what might've happened to Sam." Kevin replied slowly, like he wasn't sure he should be saying anything at all.

Dean was immediately alert, nightmares and exhaustion forgotten. "What is it?" he repeated.

Kevin was hesitant for a moment but finally said, "I was doing my normal check for demonic omens. You know, to see if any demons might somehow be tailing me?"

Dean nodded to show he agreed that was a smart thing to keep tabs on, and Kevin continued.

"Well I noticed there've been some lightning storms this week. Totally out of season for this part of the state. But I wanted to double check that was true, so I looked up weather reports in the area over the past few years, just to cross reference. Well anyway, a lightning storm like this would usually be out of season for this part of Nebraska, except this part of Nebraska has been having tons of random storms over the past year. About once or twice a month for the past twelve months, a random electrical storm will spring up. Nothing too crazy, but enough to make me think there have been demons coming to town throughout the year."

Dean started to get a sinking sensation in his stomach as Kevin spoke. He had a bad feeling that he understood exactly what sort of conclusion Kevin had drawn from all of this weather data.

"Dean, I think I was wrong about demons not being involved in Sam's memory loss. I think maybe they did wipe his mind, but they didn't kill him because they didn't have to. He wasn't a threat after that," Kevin finished speaking and waited for Dean to process everything that had just been said.

"Kevin, you're telling me that demons probably messed with my brother's head. I get that. But the weather…You're saying they've been checking up on him since then, aren't you?" Dean's head was reeling from the revelation even as he posed the question to Kevin.

"Once or twice a month since Sam stopped believing he was Sam, yeah," affirmed Kevin solemnly. Then the prophet added, "What I don't understand is why. Why keep him around as a blank slate instead of killing him? Sure, he's not a threat anymore, but since when are demons merciful? Why let him build a new life at all?"

Dean thought about that for a moment before finally a light bulb went off in his brain. "For the same reason you'd been tracking Sam all that time," Dean stated. "They're using him as bait for me."

"But doesn't Crowley think you're dead?" Kevin looked skeptical as he asked.

Dean had an answer for that right away. "Crowley worked for a whole year to crack open Purgatory. I'm betting he knew all kinds of stuff about the place, including that killing Dick Roman would bounce my ass right into the joint. I'm thinking he probably even knew there was a chance I'd make it out afterward, too."

"So Crowley is just waiting for you to show up looking for Sam-" Kevin began to clarify.

Dean finished the thought for him, saying, "And he left Sam all blank in the brain so I'd hang around trying to fix him. Then Crowley will come for his regular checkup, see I'm finally here, and bam! He has us both right where he wants us. Two birds with one stone."

Even as pissed as Dean was about Crowley's plans, he had to admit it was clever. Of course Dean would find out Sam had memory loss and stay nearby. All Crowley had to do was pop in once in a while to check his little psychological trap, and if ever the trap was full, he'd be ready to make his move.

"Crap," Dean breathed out, feeling slightly overwhelmed and majorly eager to rush to Sam's side. Suddenly the fact that Sam had no memories of how to fight against demons seemed _really_ bad. "Kevin, start looking through your notes here and see if you can find any spell strong enough to use against Crowley. I'm going to go see if I can't get Sam to leave town with us. We've got to get out of here, like, as soon as possible. Crowley could show up at any time."

"But Dean-" Kevin began, however Dean was already across the church and to the door.

"I'll be back soon with Sam!" Dean called over his shoulder as he exited the church and made a beeline for 'Robert's' place.

**OoO**

Dean knocked on Sam's apartment door a bit more forcefully than usual, feeling off-kilter since realizing Crowley's trap…And the fact that he had walked right into it.

A few moments later the door opened and Sam was standing there.

"Hey Sa-Robert! I, uh, I need to talk to you," Dean began, but he stopped talking when he saw the look of anger on Sam's face.

"Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?" Sam asked aggressively.

Dean faltered then, confused. Was Sam losing his memories again? Had Crowley already showed up and blocked the past two weeks out of Sam's head, too?

His questions were answered quickly when Sam added, "You know, a cop came by here earlier? Said he was looking for a guy named 'Herman Munster', and then showed me a picture of _you _in front of your motel."

Dean wanted to kick something, preferably the police officer who had blown his cover.

"Look, I can explain-" Dean started, but Sam cut him off.

"I don't want your explanations, 'Garth'," Sam snapped, his tone mocking as he said Dean's fake name. "I called the motel and sure enough, there's no 'Garth Winston' staying there. But Herman Munster is staying in your room, actually. Plus, my apartment complex says there's no one named Herman Munster _or_ Garth Winston waiting for an apartment to get cleaned up."

"Listen-" Dean tried again but Sam was on a roll and definitely _not_ listening.

"So as far as I can tell, you've been feeding me a bunch of bull this entire time! God knows what you want with me, but whatever it is, you're not getting it. I'm sick of you lying to me," Sam finished on a note of what would have been venom, had his eyes not betrayed the hurt beneath his anger.

It was an odd thing for a man to say to a near-stranger who was wanted by the cops, and Dean was reminded of the many times in which his brother had been upset with him for being dishonest. It was like seeing a glimpse of Sam behind the cover of 'Robert', except it was the side of Sam that he didn't want to deal with right then. He was supposed to be somehow convincing Sam to leave the city with him…

He was _not_ supposed to be fighting with the guy.

"We're done here. Get off my porch in the next five seconds or I _will_ sic the police on you, which you're lucky I haven't done already, just by the way," Sam said coolly.

"Robert, you need to-" Dean attempted one last time to convince Sam to hear him out, but and the taller man simply shut the door in his face.

"Damnit!" Dean hissed, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

**OoO**

Robert closed the door roughly in Garth's face, feeling a mix of anger and guilt as he did so. He knew the man on his porch was apparently a wanted criminal and he shouldn't feel bad about telling him to leave.

And he wouldn't, if that was what was actually upsetting him.

But instead of feeling bothered by the fact that Garth had turned out to be some crook, Robert was feeling hurt that the guy had been dishonest with him in general. The man had given him a fake name, a fake explanation for why he was in the neighborhood, and probably a fake life-story, too. All sorts of lies had come pouring out of so-called Garth's mouth, and Robert was just plain hurt by it.

Because _he_ had been honest with Garth.

He had shared so much with the guy in such a small span of time- had been more open and trusting with him than he had been with _anyone_ since his uncle died- and it had all been for nothing. In the end, Garth had turned out to be keeping secrets from him, and it left him feeling like he was back at square one in his life: unable to trust anyone and all alone.

He watched through the peep hole in his door as the man he had considered to be his friend just a day before slowly walked away from his apartment, head hung and shoulders slumped. At least he appeared genuinely remorseful about the lies…

And the feelings of guilt crept up in Sam's gut once more at that thought.

He couldn't help but contemplate opening the door again and calling Garth back. Maybe the guy deserved a chance to explain himself? There was something about watching the man walk away looking so devastated that didn't sit right with Robert, whether he was a lying criminal or not…

Unfortunately for Robert, he wasn't given a chance to act upon his impulse. Instead a sudden hand on his shoulder made him spin around.

He barely had enough time to process the man in the black suit standing in his living room smirking before he was being flung across the room, his leg colliding with what he suspected was his dog's head before he slammed hard into drywall.

The last thing he was aware of was a drawling voice saying, "Hello again, Moose."

**OoO**

Dean walked away from Sam's apartment feeling like the scum of the earth.

He'd been waiting for something like this to happen. It had all been too good to be true, after all. He had been right to think Sam would eventually realize he didn't want Dean around. True, he hadn't expected a visitation from a cop to be the first domino that would topple their shaky relationship, but he had suspected it would be_ something_. Sam was always leaving him for one reason or another, but Dean suspected there was a common thread behind it all.

Dean was a crappy brother, obviously.

Even when Sam didn't _know_ they were brothers, Dean had still managed to blow the guy's trust and hurt him within a couple weeks.

"Good going, Dean," the hunter muttered to himself.

Now he'd need to find another way to get Sam safely out of the city. Admittedly, Dean hadn't been sure how he was going to convince 'Robert' to leave with him even when the guy had trusted him. But now things were even more complicated. It looked like he'd have no choice but to manhandle Sam into leaving, and how would he react to_ that_ in the future?

He hated Dean enough right now as it was. If Dean kidnapped him and dragged him from his home? What were the odds that Sam would ever be able to trust Dean in the slightest after that? Hell, it would only serve to convince Sam further that Dean was the criminal that cop was apparently convinced he was.

Speaking of the cop…

Now there was the matter of a freaking _cop_ looking for him on top of everything else! He thought back on how Kevin had traced him using the credit card alias he'd gotten off the federal database. How could Dean have forgotten that the law would be able to trace him too? He'd just been so worried about Sam that he hadn't really thought of much else…

Dean sighed, realizing that one way or another, this would end badly for him. Either Crowley would eventually get a hold of Sam (which wasn't really an option at all), or Dean would have to kidnap Sam and accept that once he got him safe somehow, the younger man would probably not want anything to do with him and he'd lose any chance of ever getting Sam to remember him again.

Either way, he'd lose his brother.

_But at least with option two he'll be alive_, Dean thought.

The hunter swallowed down the grief over the loss he was undoubtedly going to endure and reminded himself that the sacrifice would be worth it. Sam could still be happy as 'Robert Johnson'. Besides, Dean had already been considering leaving before to save Sam from the pain of his company. This was just finalizing things in a more permanent way…

A storm cloud rumbled menacingly in the distance as Dean reluctantly accepted the fate that awaited him.

With that thought Dean pulled out his cell, preparing to call Kevin and warn the kid that he was going to have to resort to a very unfortunate Plan B. But suddenly the phone lit up in his hand with Kevin's name on the screen as the ringtone went off.

"Kevin, what's up?" Dean answered immediately, knowing that the prophet wouldn't have just called for a chat.

"Dean, there's news," Kevin said shakily, and the hunter could tell from the kid's tone that the 'news' was not going to be fun.

"Lay it on me," Dean responded resignedly.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but there's a lightning storm brewing, like, right now. That means there's a demon here, _right now, _and I think it's Cr_-_" Kevin explained urgently.

"You think it's Crowley, right?" Dean concluded, rubbing his temple wearily. "Welcome to my life."

"Do you think he knows where we are? Even though we've got warding against him?" Kevin inquired, concern creeping even more into his voice.

"I don't see how he could, and unless there's some other big game in town for that bastard to be after, I'd bet he's just coming for his regular look in on-" Dean's sentence cut off abruptly as he thought of Sam.

Sam was big game, right? And sure, Kevin had told Dean that first night that the Crowley seemed to be leaving the younger Winchester alone during the occasional check-ups, but what if he _did_ know Dean was here? What if he was putting his plan into action, _right now_?

"Kevin, I'm going to get Sam," Dean stated determinedly.

"I thought that's what you were doing already!" Kevin commented in an exasperated voice.

"Uh, I hit a snag with that plan, but I have a solution now and I'll get him one way or another," Dean assured the prophet as he turned back towards Sam's apartment. He steeled himself for the task of kidnapping his little brother.

"Dean, where are you gonna take him? If you bring him to the church, then you could bring the King of Hell down on us. You're not going to be able to defend Sam, me, and the tablet from him by yourself," Kevin pointed out, stopping Dean in his tracks.

"I'll take him out of town with me. I've kind of…Well I've got to leave town anyway," Dean said, thinking fast.

"Wait, why?" Kevin asked, confused.

"Because you and the Fuzz both know my nicknames, and they finally got the lead out on the chase," Dean said. He was in motion once more, nearing the entrance to Sam's apartment complex.

Something Sam had said came rushing back to Dean then, making his stomach flip with unease.

_You know, a cop came by here earlier? Said he was looking for a guy named 'Herman Munster', and then showed me a picture of _you _in front of your motel._

In front of the motel.

Dean was certain that all pictures in the local and Federal databases had to have been from before he went to Purgatory. Though the law might have traced his credit card to the motel, they wouldn't have had a picture of him from there. The place Dean was staying didn't have security cameras for them to steal an image off of, and if a cop had taken the picture in person, then he wouldn't have needed to talk to Sam…

Suddenly Dean remembered what Kevin had said earlier that day about the lightning storms.

Before the kid had said anything else about Crowley, and before Dean had gone to speak with Sam, Kevin had said something about the lightning storms having been happening _this week_. Which only meant one thing…

Crowley hadn't shown up just today. He'd already been in town the whole week.

How had Dean missed that math?

That meant Crowley _definitely_ knew Dean was around. And that meant Crowley had to have taken that picture, which also meant Crowley had been posing as a police officer- possessing one probably. Crowley had already been by Sam's place, and he could be back at any time. And Sam was entirely defenseless, obviously…

Dean knew he needed to get Sam someplace safe,_ right then_.

The hunter was full-on running back towards Sam's apartment door as Kevin said, "Wait, I don't underst-" but Dean interrupted him.

"When we get settled somewhere- when we lose the demons- I'll call you. Until then you just be careful and keep your head down," Dean instructed and then disconnected the call without waiting for Kevin's approval of the plan.

He was pretty sure that Crowley didn't know about Kevin, seeing as Kevin hadn't left the warded church all week. But he kept his fingers crossed that he was at least correct about that, because Kevin had made a good point earlier. Dean probably wouldn't be able to keep the tablet, the kid, and his brother safe from the King of Hell at the same time.

Dean reached Sam's apartment door slightly out of breath, only to discover that the door was not closed all the way.

Without thinking he threw open the barrier between himself and his brother, barging inside the apartment with his silver knife drawn.

The first thing he saw was Dean the Dog laying sprawled across the floor. The animal looked to be in one piece and was still breathing, but he was obviously unconscious. There was also a massive concave section in the drywall on the far side of the room, as if something large had been thrown into it with great force.

And all in the air there was something that made Dean's blood run cold. Something that he had been a year without experiencing, and that made him certain his little brother was in big trouble.

The smell of sulfur in the apartment was overwhelming.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Uh-oh! Things are _not _looking good, huh? Well buckle up, because this ride has only just begun! :D And if you have a moment, please do leave feedback. I'd love to hear what you're thinking! :)**

**P.S. Sorry for any glaring errors this chapter. I looked it over before posting, as usual. However, I've been up all night with my dog who just had surgery, so I might have tiredly missed some stuff. (My dog is fine, by the way. He just had to have a benign fatty tumor removed yesterday, and even with the pain meds he's pretty sore from it. But he still wants to try and walk around, hence me having to keep stopping him so he doesn't rip open his sutures. :P) So sorry if the grammar here wasn't quite up to par! **


	7. It's Been A While

**Author's Note: Anyone curious to see what Crowley's up to? Well you've come to the right place! lol Before we begin though, I want to thank janiekm, TG, Hilanamerchuk, ncsupnatfan, reannablue, GuestJ, judyann, missingmikey, sarah, Zana Zira, mb64, Er-BearG32, StyxxsOmega, jojospn, AJTish, and 221BNB for their recent reviews and support. You guys just helped me reach over 100 reviews on my first multichapter! My gratitude is overwhelming right now. :o And thanks to every reader! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

Robert woke slowly, awareness of his surroundings bleeding into his consciousness at the pace of molasses.

At first all he knew was a persistent throbbing in his skull and a steady ache radiating from his back and shoulders, but as the seconds ticked by and he was able to coax his eyelids to open, he became more acquainted with his situation.

He was in a dimly lit concrete building of some sort. It was vast and seemingly empty save for some cement support beams arranged throughout the building, and the chair in which Robert was sitting. The only source of light came from dusty windows lining the upper portion of the walls, through which Robert could see an early afternoon sky. He hadn't been out for too long then, apparently.

As he attempted to stretch his arms, Robert realized his hands were bound behind him with tight ropes. His torso was also tethered to his seat. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and he shifted his weight around in an attempt to alleviate some of the strain on his tailbone, back, and shoulders.

As soon as he began to move, a voice from somewhere behind his line of vision said, "Ah. Awake at last, are we?"

Robert was certain it was the same voice he had heard back in his apartment before he had been knocked out. His suspicions were confirmed when the middle aged man in the tidy black suit he had seen at his home came strolling out into the open area in front of his chair.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Robert questioned directly, though he had a feeling the man in front of him wouldn't be giving any straight answers.

"Oh that's right! You don't know who I am. I almost _forgot_," The man commented with a smile resembling that of a hungry snake. "Well, allow me to do the introductions then. I'm the King of Hell," he said, pointing to himself. Then he turned his finger to point at Robert and added, "And you, Gigantor, are what is known as _bait_."

Robert glared at the man. "Bait for who?" he inquired flatly.

The man ignored Robert's question and pulled out a cellphone from his suit coat pocket. "If you'll excuse me, I think it's about time I made a call," he announced before dialing a few numbers and holding the cell to his ear.

"It's been a while Squirrel," he said after a beat. Robert could barely make out the voice of another man on the other end of the call, but he couldn't discern what it said. It was clear from the tone, however, that the recipient of the call was not pleased.

"Now really, when you use colorful language like that I'm tempted to keep him for myself. I think I'd be a better influence. And he's so _easy _to influence right now, wouldn't you agree?" The man in the suit said calmly, but he was smiling again.

The person on the other line's response only made the man's smile widen before he finally continued to speak, saying, "To answer your first question, yes. That's exactly what I want. Regarding your second inquiry..." the man paused and his face grew serious. "I have reason to believe you've located the rug-rat who's been evading me since his, shall we say, _rambunctious_ departure from my guardianship…and a certain precious stone that I want back in my possession. So here's the offer."

The voice on the other end of the line started up again, but the man cut right over his words as if he didn't hear them. "I will trade you one haplessly befuddled Neanderthal in return for the school boy and his rock. I'll even promise that no harm will come to the lad. Well, no permanent harm, anyway…" the man was smirking again, eyes glinting dangerously. "So what do you say? Is it a deal?" he finally asked.

There was silence on the other end for a brief moment, and then one short word was uttered by the person on the phone.

"Splendid!" the man exclaimed cheerfully. "Then you'll meet me at 709 Birchland Avenue by midnight tonight for the exchange, or I slit Jolly Green's throat slowly."

The person on the end of the call began to protest loudly, but the man hung up the phone and suddenly the empty warehouse was eerily silent. Robert was staring at the man cautiously, all too aware that it was his _own_ throat which had just been threatened. It wasn't hard to figure out, given the fact that he was the one tied up.

The man laughed and said, "Don't fret Moose. You can be sure he'll come for _you_."

**OoO**

Dean was staring at the unconscious Australian Sheppard in Sam's living room and panicking when his cellphone rang loudly from his pocket. The caller ID read '666', and he felt his heart rate pick up. He answered the call quickly and held the phone to his ear.

"It's been a while Squirrel," the voice on the phone said, and Dean instantly knew it belonged to Crowley. The unmistakable British accent of the King of Hell was a complete giveaway.

"Tell me where my brother is you sulfur-breathing bag of dicks," Dean growled into the cell, barely restraining the rage that bubbled within him.

"Now really, when you use colorful language like that I'm tempted to keep him for myself. I think I'd be a better influence. And he's so _easy_ to influence right now, wouldn't you agree?" Crowley tossed back casually, but Dean understood immediately what the demon was hinting at. Crowley was confirming that knew the details about Sam's memory loss, and he was threatening to manipulate Sam's mind while he was vulnerable, unless Dean did whatever it was he wanted.

The thing that really interested Dean was when Crowley said "keep him for myself". The phrase implied that the demon intended to give Sam up if Dean cooperated. Of course, Dean wasn't foolish enough to trust that Crowley really meant to do that, but he still felt there was something he was missing. For example, what did he have that Crowley might be looking to exchange Sam for? Or pretend to exchange him for, anyway.

"You're saying you want to do a trade, right?" Dean asked, the level of wrath in his gut still rising. "Well, for what then? What do you want?"

"To answer your first question, yes. That's exactly what I want. Regarding your second inquiry...I have reason to believe you've located the rug-rat who's been evading me since his, shall we say, _rambunctious_ departure from my guardianship…and a certain precious stone that I want back in my possession. So here's the offer," The King of Hell responded smoothly, and Dean felt his stomach lurch.

Any hope Dean had clung to that Crowley didn't know about Kevin evaporated immediately. With his penchant for disaster, Dean had sort of been mentally preparing himself for something like this. But he'd also been wanting to believe that it was just the tablet the King would be interested in, and not the prophet himself. He didn't want to involve Kevin in Sam's rescue if at all possible, but it seemed like luck was against him. Like always.

"You listen here you ego-inflated sack of-" Dean began angrily, but the demon paid him no attention and continued to speak as though Dean had said nothing at all.

"I will trade you one haplessly befuddled Neanderthal, in return for the school boy and his rock. I'll even promise that no harm will come to the lad. Well, no permanent harm, anyway…"

Dean's gut clenched at that. Bringing Kevin was officially a terrible idea. The kid would end up tortured for sure if anything went wrong, and really, when did everything go right?

"So what do you say? Is it a deal?" Crowley asked.

Dean was very quiet for a second, trying to think of any way to avoid agreeing to bring the young prophet, but there was no light bulb moment to save him.

"Yes," Dean finally ground out, guilt churning inside as he said the word.

"Splendid! Then you'll meet me at 709 Birchland Avenue by midnight tonight for the exchange, or I slit Jolly Green's throat slowly," the demon said nonchalantly.

"What? No! I need at least-" but the call disconnected, and Dean was left stumbling over his words to no one in particular.

**OoO**

"You did WHAT?" Kevin exclaimed as Dean explained the terms Crowley had set, and more importantly, the fact that he had agreed to them.

Dean rubbed his temple, having expected this sort of reaction from the boy. Dean had come straight back to the old church after his phone conversation with the demon, knowing that he would need to tell Kevin everything if he was to get the prophet to assist him in the upcoming meeting. Which was, in fairness to the kid, asking an awful lot. But Dean couldn't think about that when his brother's life was on the line. He'd just have to owe Kevin later, if the kid agreed to help.

"Calm down a sec Kevin! It's not like I'm _actually _planning on handing you over to the dickwad," Dean finally retorted, but his words did little to appease the flustered prophet standing in front of him.

"Dean, you realize now you have to walk me and the tablet _right up to Crowley_ in order to get close enough to get Sam back, and do you know what that means?" Kevin asked, his voice quavering ever so slightly with nerves.

"Yeah, I get that it's a risky move for all of us, Kev. But I swear I'm not letting that asshat bag and drag you again," Dean insisted.

"That's not the only part I'm worried about Dean. Do you know how badly things could go if he gets a hold of me and that tablet?" Kevin said, and the hunter paused. He took a moment to really examine the kid before him, and what he saw surprised him.

Kevin was disheveled looking as ever, still with dark circles under his eyes from restless nights, and still a bit thinner than he should be. But suddenly the thought occurred to Dean that he'd had the reason for the kid's insomnia and self-inflicted malnourishment wrong for a while. All this time he'd been assuming Kevin was terrified of Crowley getting a hold of him again, since he knew he'd be punished for having run away, and so the boy had to be stressing about that all the time. That's why he thought Kevin had been so upset when Dean wanted to stay in Sam's area instead of going to ground. That was what he'd automatically assumed would be the boy's reason for not wanting Dean to bring him along for the trade-off with the King of Hell later…

But that wasn't the bigger issue.

Sure, the prophet was frightened of ending up as the demon's tinker toy. Kevin wasn't a fool and he knew that Crowley would not let his previous escapade go unavenged. But at the core of the situation was a sense of duty to protect the tablet, and suddenly Dean understood that Kevin wasn't just scared of what would be done to him…

He was scared of what _he_ would do.

"Dean, if something goes wrong and he comes out on top, then everything is screwed. Because I don't think I can…" Kevin's voice trailed off, but Dean heard the unspoken half of the sentence cloud and clear.

_Because I don't think I can hold out if he starts torturing me for information. _

This whole time Kevin had been worried that Crowley would catch them and he would spill the beans on the tablet translations because he didn't trust himself to withstand the kind of…_persuasion_ that the King of Hell would use.

"Kevin, it's not going to come to that. I'm not gonna let him get you. Trust me, ok?" Dean said, placing a firm hand on Kevin's shoulder and squeezing once to emphasize his point. The kid continued to look embarrassed, and Dean realized the prophet was actually ashamed of himself- feeling guilt for lacking confidence in his strength to not crack under that kind of pressure.

"Hey, you told me that night we met up here that you're not trained to fight demons, and that part of things would be on me. Remember?" Dean asked, and Kevin nodded mutely.

"Well, no one blames you for not being ready to get strapped to a rack either, ok? But I'm not gonna let it come to that. I'm going to make sure you get through this in one piece. You _and_ Sam. Because I'm tired of these smoky douchebags messing with my family, you hear me?" Dean delivered his words all while looking the younger man directly in the eye, and when he was done he could see that they'd had the desired effect. Kevin no longer appeared as guilty, but instead had a spark of determination in his gaze.

"So then what's the plan?" Kevin finally asked, his voice more steady. "I tricked Crowley once, but that only makes it harder for us this time. He'll be expecting us to pull something again, and he'll be extra careful."

Dean's eyes swept the surrounding area of the church's main room, hoping for a plan to suddenly strike him. Just as he was about to tell Kevin he needed a minute to think on it, he noticed a pile of rubble near the back corner of the room where a section of the ancient stone wall was crumbling.

"We're going to hand him a tablet," Dean said with a smirk.

**OoO**

The next several hours went by in a blur as Dean and Kevin worked non-stop preparing everything they would need to stand a chance in the coming confrontation.

The hunter readied their weapons, filling several bottles with fresh holy water. One of the perks of being in the old church was having easy access to the stuff. Any water on the grounds was sanctified, and there was a pond in the yard behind the church that had probably once been a small garden, but was now an overgrown jungle of weeds. He also sharpened the blade that he still carried from Purgatory, drawing comfort from the idea of holding something so familiar in his hand for a battle. And of course, he worked on re-learning a useful exorcism ritual that Kevin had written down for him. He hadn't needed to use his Latin in a while, since there were no demons in the monster land he'd spent most of the past year, and he wanted to refresh his memory. While Dean prepared their defense, Kevin focused his efforts on readying their bargaining chip.

He spent the prep time creating a fake demon tablet to hand off to Crowley.

Dean had helped him find a slab of stone from the rubble pile inside the church that was roughly the same size and color as the demon tablet. Then it was the simple matter of letting Kevin put enough chicken scratches on the rock to give it a passable appearance. Kevin used real symbols to make it look extra authentic, but assured Dean he was not copying the actual words from the demon tablet. He was apparently writing his own version of things, and so far it was looking workable.

By the time the home-made tablet was complete, Dean had several bottles of holy water ready for both of them, a razor sharp stone blade, and was ready to exorcise whatever came his way. Both men felt as prepared as they could be, given the unfortunate odds they were facing.

"We should go," Dean finally said as the sun started to go down.

"It's only 8pm. I thought he said midnight," Kevin pointed out, but Dean hefted the bag of their tools over his shoulder and began walking toward the exit anyway.

"He said '_by_ midnight', and I don't want to take any chances on him getting impatient. Besides, we gotta make a stop at Sam's place first," Dean replied calmly.

Kevin didn't question and just followed Dean out of the church to the old, rusted Toyota Corolla he was still using. They drove over to Sam's apartment, which was unlocked, just as Dean had left it. The only difference was that this time he was greeted by a frantic, barking dog when he stepped inside.

"Hey! Calm down Dean! We're friends!" Dean the Human shouted at Dean the Dog, trying to get the creature to back off. Even though it had been several years since he had been killed by Hellhounds, Dean was in no way fond of large dogs running at him.

Luckily for him, Dean the Dog seemed to trust him. The animal quickly stopped barking and began whining loudly instead, running back and forth between Dean the Human and the damaged wall where Sam had likely been seen last. The dog was clearly beside himself with worry for his owner.

"Hey, it's ok Dean," Dean the Human said again, this time more gently. "We're gonna get him back."

Kevin, who had been standing in the background looking confused during the entire exchange, finally spoke up with an incredulous, "Uh, why are you talking in third person?"

"I'm not. The dog's name is Dean," the hunter explained gruffly.

"He named his _dog_ after you?" Kevin looked amused as he said it. Dean only glared at the prophet in response, and the kid wisely chose to drop the subject. Instead he asked, "So why are we here?"

"To get something important," Dean replied absently, searching all over the living room. He found nothing in the front room, so he headed down the hall into the kitchen. "Yahtzee!" He exclaimed when he found the little silver keys he'd been searching for sitting on the kitchen counter. He carried them out to Kevin with a broad smile on his face.

"If we're going up against the King of Hell, then we're riding there in style," Dean said proudly.

He then led the prophet out of the apartment, locking the door behind him with one of the other keys on Sam's key-ring. It was a force of habit, really, to lock a door behind him. That, and he figured Sam would want his dog to be kept safe in the apartment for when they got back.

_If_ they got back.

Dean pushed that negative thought aside as he walked up to his beautiful black Impala, still parked out front without a scratch on her. He unlocked the driver's door and slid into the front seat, hands gripping the steering wheel with delicate adoration as Kevin climbed into the passenger seat next to him.

"Oh Baby, it has been _way_ too long," Dean spoke to his vehicle with an affectionate tone that made Kevin ask if the two of them wanted to get a room. Dean shot him another glare before turning the key in the ignition and listening to his precious car rumble to life.

He experienced a boost in confidence sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, and as he pulled out of the apartment complex's parking lot, he felt like they actually stood a chance at pulling one over on the King of Hell.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! So Crowley, am I right? lol Here's to hoping Dean and Kevin can somehow manage to come out on top in the coming confrontation, because there is a LOT riding on their success. :P If you have a moment, please do leave feedback. It's the most wonderful thing ever. :D **

**Special Note to GuestJ: It's totally acceptable to be excited about Crowley's appearance! He's the villain we all love to hate and hate to love, I think. ;) Oh, and my dog's name is Frisker. He's a big 'ol mutt (possibly German Shepherd and Great Dane mix, but I don't know for certain since he's a pound puppy) and he is my dog-child. lol He's also doing much better today than he was on Friday. Thank you for the well-wishes! :D **


	8. Not Part Of The Plan

**Author's Note: Ready for a showdown to begin? ;) Just a heads up, this is probably the longest chapter in the story. I hope you don't mind! And before we things kick off I want to thank GuestJ, TG, ImpalaLove, StyxxsOmega, lenail125, a Guest, Lisa Boon, sarah, another Guest, janiekm, ncsupnatfan, need2no, jojospn, NerdAngel, kingdommast, SamSam, Zana Zira, mb64, and Lewlou15 for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

At around ten thirty that night the Impala rolled past the address Crowley had given Dean, it's passengers eying the joint warily.

The location turned out to be a large industrial building. It was dirty and worn-down, and had likely been abandoned a good decade ago at least. It was precisely the kind of location Dean would have expected Crowley to go for. The bad guys always seemed to have a thing for desolate warehouses.

Dean drove by somewhat slowly, scanning the exterior of the building for signs of life, but he didn't spot any of Crowley's usual demonic henchmen posted as guards outside. Still, he drove a block away to park the car so they could make their final preparations in definite privacy. Once the Impala was settled, Dean cut the engine and turned to the prophet riding shotgun.

"You ready Kev?" Dean asked.

The younger man was a bit pale, but his voice was stable as he replied, "About as ready as I'll ever be to do something this idiotic."

The kid flashed Dean a half smile to show he was only joking around, and Dean smiled in return, relieved to see that Kevin was using humor to cope with his nerves. It was a tried and true technique that had pulled Dean through plenty of crap.

They climbed out of the Impala and dragged Dean's bag of supplies from the trunk (which Dean had been disappointed to find was empty of all its usual hunting equipment, even though he had been expecting "Robert's" vehicle to be devoid of a hunter's tools) to sort out what they would be taking with them on their person. Both men stashed small bottles of holy water in their jackets. Dean carried the Purgatory blade, and Kevin gripped the fake tablet so tightly that his knuckles were white. They had discussed earlier that Kevin would need to play up his attachment to the fake tablet a bit. The King of Hell would get suspicious otherwise, and they were already anticipating enough skepticism from the demon without a red flag like that getting added to the list.

With nothing else left for the men to do, they stashed the bag back in the vehicle and finally turned away from the Impala to walk down the road toward the warehouse. Upon reaching the main entrance- a rusted door to the front left corner of the building- they exchanged one last glance and a silent nod of agreement that whatever lay ahead, they were in it together.

Then Dean pushed open the door, biting back a violent cough as a nasty odor wafted over him. It smelled like a mix between rotting flesh and sewage, and Dean was certain the building hadn't been used since the Jurassic Era. Trying not to breathe too deeply, Dean led the way into the spacious building that was empty except for concrete support pillars scattered throughout, and two men on the other side of the large room. One was tied to a chair, and one stood dressed in a black suit.

Dean recognized both instantly.

"Hello boys," The suit-clad man said, his face twisting with a wicked smirk.

"Crowley," Dean growled as he approached, but he wasn't looking at the demon. His eyes were locked onto the larger man tethered to a metal chair behind the King of Hell. Dean was certain it was his brother from the moment he entered the warehouse. Even from a distance, the height was unmistakable. One of the few perks of having such an over-sized younger sibling was that he was easy to spot.

Thankfully Sam appeared generally unharmed. He had sustained only minor bruising on the side of his head during Crowley's initial attack, likely when he had collided with his apartment wall, but other than that he seemed alright. As Dean drew closer, he could make out Sam's hazel eyes too- wide and confused, and Dean hated knowing that it was because he still had no clue what was going on. In Sam's mind, he was still Robert Johnson and Dean was still some common criminal who had lied to him.

And now had gotten him kidnapped, which was apparently not something 'Robert' had expected from him, judging by the way Sam's gaze was shifting between Dean and Crowley in a surprised sort of pattern.

"Garth, don't-" Sam began to speak, but Crowley raised one hand and Sam's words morphed into soft, choked noises. Instead of looking fearful, Sam's gaze filled with anger.

_At least he's still got his fighting spirit, _Dean thought dryly.

"Garth?" Crowley said after Sam had stopped struggling to speak and was quiet once more. "Did he just call you _Garth_? Like that lanky lad who fancies himself a hunter?" The demon looked beside himself with amusement.

"Cut the crap Crowley. Let's just get to the point," said Dean quickly, not eager for Sam to learn his true identity from a demon.

Crowley seemed to sense that Dean didn't want the truth revealed and it gave him noticeable delight. Instead of 'getting to the point', the King of Hell circled around to stand behind Sam. Smiling, he drew a long silver blade from his suit-coat and in one swift motion it was held to the man's throat.

Dean automatically took a step forward- weapon raised. But Crowley pressed the blade gently against Sam's flesh, and a thin strip of crimson pooled where the knife made contact, causing the tall man to hiss with pain despite his inability to speak.

"I would stop moving unless you want to see how well he wears the color red," Crowley taunted.

Dean froze, breathing heavily with anger. They were supposed to pursue the fake trade, do their best to wiggle out of it, and then be done or be dead. They were _not_ supposed to fool around like this.

Of course he had always been aware that Crowley _would_ probably want to toy with them a little. The demon knew about Sam's memory issues- seemed to have caused them, even- and Dean didn't doubt for a second that it was something Crowely would enjoy teasing him about. He had just hoped that Crowley would be more interested in getting the tablet than in highlighting Sam's situation.

Then again, it wasn't as if Dean and Kevin had any leverage that would let them control the pace of this meeting. Crowley knew he had them for as long as he wanted.

The demon began to speak again, and Dean grimaced at the subject matter. "You know, I've been watching him over the past year. At first it was a safety precaution, you see. I had to make sure he wasn't planning to come after me. But imagine my surprise when I discovered that, not only was he entirely _not_ threatening, but he was entirely off his rocker, too!" Crowley exclaimed with a laugh. "Then it became a matter of entertainment. Once in a while I would check up on him to see if he was still living the American dream, and do you know what the best part was?" The demon paused, raising his eyebrows at the humans before him.

"Don't have a clue. But since you obviously like the sound of your own voice, I bet I'm about to find out," Dean shot back flatly.

The bravado was all a show. Actually, Dean was feeling more than a little perturbed. The way Crowley was talking, it sounded as if the demon was saying he _hadn't_ been involved in Sam's memory loss.

Crowley chuckled and said, "It was knowing that it couldn't last for him. Something always comes along and rips up his happy little fantasy, doesn't it? And you know, that something is usually _you_, Dean," Crowley's eyes were dark with malicious glee as he finally stopped talking, giving Dean a moment to process what he had just been accused of. Dean flinched then, both from guilt and because his real name had been spoken aloud in front of Sam.

He looked into Sam's eyes and was not surprised to find the younger man appeared upset. Confused. Angry. And also… Pained?

Dean's big brother instincts were kicking in as he definitely caught a flash of major discomfort in Sam's expression. More than whatever pain the cut on his neck had caused him, and more than the ache he had to be feeling from having been tossed into a wall. No, something was genuinely _hurting_ his brother.

The moment Dean locked eyes with his brother, Sam's face scrunched up and a rasping breath escaped him- the only sound he could make with Crowley still preventing him from speaking.

Crowley didn't seem to notice Sam's pained expression because he was too fixated on the look of distress on _Dean's_ face.

"Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you feel rather bad about ruining Moose's vacation," Crowley sneered, barely managing to draw Dean's attention once more.

Dean knew it wasn't wise to indulge any deviations from the plan he and Kevin had agreed upon, but the way Crowley kept acting as though he'd had no involvement in messing with his brother's head left Dean unable to stop himself from trying to bait Crowley into admitting his actions. "You're enjoying this too much, you know that? I get it. You Memorexed him so I'd fall into the trap if I crawled out of Monsterville, but you are getting _way_ too big a kick out of it all," he said in disgust.

"You think_ I_ did this to your Sasquatch?" Crowley asked. Instead of looking pleased with his brilliant scheme, Crowley actually appeared surprised by Dean's accusation. "Haven't you been paying attention?" he added.

It was Dean's turn to look confused.

He knew Crowley was one for lying, but he just didn't see what advantage that would give the demon in this situation. He had Dean and Sam exactly where he wanted them, and Kevin too. This was normally the part where Crowley would brag about his cunning efforts to get them all there.

Dean's uncertain expression was apparently amusing to the King of Hell, because he said, "You actually believe that! Oh _there's_ a can of worms I'd love to crack into," Crowley cackled. "I regret to inform you, Dean, that the gargantuan head-case did this all to himself."

Dean felt the air go out of the room as his brain worked through what had just been stated.

Sam had taken his own memories away somehow? By choice? Sam had _chosen_ to forget his life, his job, monsters, Crowley, and…

_Sam chose to forget me._

The thought came suddenly and ripped through all of Dean's hope that maybe somehow, if they all survived this confrontation, he and Sam would find a way to make things right again. Because Sam didn't want Dean around after all, whether he was Garth Winston or his own brother.

Sam had chosen to be rid of him.

Dean was so lost in the devastating revelation that he nearly missed when Crowley continued speaking. "Yet now isn't really the time to explore your soap opera, is it? Let's get down to business instead," the demon was saying, his attention finally shifting to Kevin as he grew serious.

The glint in Crowley's eyes as his gaze passed over the young prophet had Dean itching to move in front of the kid, but he knew better than to do that. It would contradict the story they were about to feed the demon.

"I must admit I'm surprised. I thought you'd have needed to kidnap the brat, but he doesn't look nearly as unwilling to be here as I anticipated..." Crowley said, staring at Kevin in a scrutinizing manner. "Why is that?" he finally asked, his focus turning back to Dean and his expression revealing the suspicions Dean had anticipated.

"Apparently you two have some kind of an agreement or something, right?" Dean responded gruffly, following the lie he and Kevin had agreed upon.

He didn't have the ability to crumble under the weight of the realization that Sam had essentially thrown him out. He still had to make sure that Kevin, the tablet, and Sam all made it through this ordeal in one piece.

"Excuse me?" Crowley asked, now looking back at Kevin with a quirked eyebrow.

Kevin finally spoke up. "You told me last time I was with you that you weren't going to hurt me if I translated the tablet for you. I'm still not excited about telling you what's on the thing, but I also don't want _him_ to die," he explained, gesturing toward Sam as he said 'him'. "So if it's me translating the tablet for his life, then I don't have much of a choice."

Kevin fell silent, looking Crowley in the eye and holding onto the tablet even more tightly as he did. The demon, meanwhile, just laughed- a sinister sound that echoed off the concrete walls menacingly.

"You made it easy on yourself this time, didn't you Squirrel? No need to carry him here all trussed. You just let the delusional pipsqueak talk himself into walking right up to me," Crowley stated cheerfully. "But really, I think it's time someone told him the truth."

With that, Crowley flicked his hand to one side and Kevin went flying until his back collided with a cement pillar and he hung there, pinned with his feet not touching the ground. He was still clinging to the tablet, like a life line, and Dean was pleased to see that he had managed to keep the grip when he made impact.

Another flick of Crowley's hand and Dean went flying the other direction, pinned to a different cement pillar. Unlike Kevin, his grip was not as strong and he dropped his Purgatory blade as he hit, cursing under his breath. True, the blade wouldn't have had much effect on Crowley. But Dean felt naked without holding something that could at least hack off one of the creep's limbs.

"If you'd told him the truth, Dean, you would have explained _exactly_ what's going to happen when I get my hands on him," The King of Hell drawled. He casually waved his hand again, and the containers of holy water Dean and Kevin had in their jackets lifted out of the interior pockets and floated lazily toward the demon. He flicked his hand again and they dropped to the ground at his feet, leaking slowly into the cement. He kicked them one by one across the room.

Dean groaned outwardly, but internally he was not as upset as he was feigning to be.

Despite the fact that both he and the kid were now pinned, things were still going to plan. This was pretty much exactly how Dean and Kevin had discussed it. Kevin would play up the cooperative side of things, trying to convince Crowley that he was ready to take him up on the previous offer to be his pampered pet prophet, as long as Sam was returned to Dean safely. And just as both had expected, Crowley assumed Dean had lied to Kevin and told him that was an offer Crowley would gladly accept.

Crowley would naturally think that Dean's concern for Sam outweighed everything, and that he would feed the prophet to Crowley's punishment to ensure Sam's safety. But that was because Crowley also believed they didn't have any way to fight back.

Dean just hoped rest of their plan to prove him wrong would work.

**OoO**

Robert had been confused ever since waking up in the warehouse, but upon seeing Garth Winston enter the building with some Asian kid Robert was _sure_ he had seen before, he felt even more lost.

He knew that Garth was a criminal of some kind since that police officer had been after him, but somehow this was not the level of crime he had suspected the man of being involved in. Somewhere along the lines he'd concluded that Garth was wanted for credit card fraud. He wasn't sure why that seemed so likely to him, but it was what he had subconsciously settled on as the man's offense against the law. But kidnapping and jewel trade? (The man in the suit had mentioned a "school boy" and a "precious stone" when he was on the phone earlier.) That level of crime hadn't even crossed his mind.

However, upon seeing the Asian kid behind Garth, Robert noticed he was carrying some kind of stone slab. Not exactly the gem Robert had been expecting- instead it looked more like some kind of museum piece with strange writing carved across its surface- but he had to guess that was the aforementioned "precious stone". So maybe these guys were involved in black-market artifact trade? But his kidnapper had also mentioned a person that would be traded, and since neither Garth nor the Asian kid were tied up, he guessed that the person of interest was someplace else for the moment.

At least, that _was_ his guess until he took in the way the suit-clad man was focusing on the Asian kid like he was lunch. Then Robert began to suspect the kid was the "school boy", there to be traded, and just probably didn't know it. Robert stared at Garth intensely, willing him to stop before he did something regrettable, like get the kid into serious trouble. Even though he knew Garth had lied to him, Robert was still certain in his gut that the man wasn't actually _that_ bad a guy.

He opened his mouth and said, "Garth, don't-", but before he could finish telling the man not to do whatever he was about to do, his throat seemed to squeeze in on itself, cutting off his ability to form words. It was something that should have terrified him because clearly it was an unnatural way for his throat to behave, and even appeared to be somehow_ caused_ by the suit-clad man- _Crowley_, Garth had called him.

Yet Robert found that the sensation of having his voice stolen away was not driving him to panic. If anything, it just made him annoyed.

_Not this crap again._

The thought floated through his head and he momentarily wanted to dissect it to figure out what his brain had meant by 'again', but then Crowley and Garth were talking and the odd thought drifted away from him, replaced by a dull headache.

Crowley said something about Garth's name, making it clear that whoever Garth really was, he had been giving Robert an alias. Robert had suspected that already, of course. But what he had _not_ been expecting was for Crowley to suddenly grab him from behind and hold a dagger to his throat.

Garth raised his weapon instantly- a primitive looking hatchet made of stone- but the minute Garth took a step toward them the knife against Robert's neck dug slightly into his skin, causing him to wince and let out a quick breath of discomfort, though he still couldn't say anything. Crowley made a remark about slitting Robert's throat if Garth kept coming, and the man was relieved when Garth took Crowley's threat seriously and stopped his advance.

Soon Crowley was talking again, and from what he was saying, Robert gathered that the man had been watching him over the past year. He said something about having needed to assess if Robert was a threat, but that didn't make any sense. He had never met the man… Right?

But somehow Robert was starting to feel doubtful about that as images suddenly flashed through his mind.

_Crowley in the same black suit, but this time standing in a room full of blood and torture instruments._

_Crowley screaming as fire suddenly consumed him. _

_Robert watched with Garth right by his side...  
_

Robert's head was beginning to throb more strongly as he tried to ignore the random images in his mind to focus on the conversation happening right then.

Crowley spoke mockingly about Robert's name and his job, and it was obvious the man thought his life was funny somehow. The thing that was making Robert feel most uncomfortable, however, was a strange sensation of guilt he got whenever he looked up at Garth and saw his reaction. The man seemed upset, if not downright sad. Even when he gave some snarky retort to one of Crowley's comments, Garth's eyes looked haunted with grief.

Finally, Crowley said, "Something always comes along and rips up his happy little fantasy, doesn't it. And do you know what? That something is usually _you_, Dean."

Robert heard the name 'Dean', and instantly knew it was Garth's real name. Not just some alias he had given Crowley, but his _real_ name.

_Just like my dog. Man's best friend. _

_Like _my_ best friend. _

More pounding in Robert's skull accompanied that random thought, and he wished his hands weren't tied up so he could massage away some of the pain.

And then Garth- _Dean_\- flinched. He looked ashamed, and as his eyes met Robert's, Robert had a strange reaction.

He developed an almost overwhelming urge to reach out to the man and tell him it was ok to have that name. That it was the name he'd given his dog because he _liked_ that name. That it was a _good_ name for a _good_ person.

_Like my best friend. _

The strange thought echoed in his head again as they made eye contact.

Unfortunately, Robert didn't have time to process just how weird his reaction was before suddenly the dull throbbing at the back of his head cranked up, and the ache started to blur his vision. The man named Dean looked truly concerned now, but Robert still couldn't speak to reassure him, and Dean still couldn't step forward to help him.

Robert felt fuzzy for the next few minutes, barely able to focus through the pain in his skull as Crowley and Dean discussed someone who Crowley claimed was a 'head-case'. He vaguely felt as though they might be referring to him, but he didn't have the energy to consider the notion too deeply. His head was causing him too much agony to worry about that at the moment…

Besides, he quickly realized that his own pounding head was the least of his concerns, because Crowley was speaking again, this time about the Asian kid- _Kevin_, Crowley called him- and with a wave of his hand, Kevin and Dean went flying across the room, settling several feet off the ground pressed up against separate cement support beams, as if by magic.

_Like black magic. _

_Black smoke? _

Robert's head was drumming a samba for him as his brain fired off nonsense.

But as Crowley talked to Dean and Kevin, he felt sure that the worst was yet to come.

**OoO**

Dean watched as Crowley slowly approached Kevin Tran. The King of Hell looked as Dean imagined a spider would when it caught a fly- hungry and victorious.

"Kevin, I'm afraid your so-called 'ally' here lied to you," The demon spoke with a mock-sympathetic tone. "You're right that I _would_ have honored you for your talents before your little escape act, but _now_ I'm feeling more inclined to twist and pull at your innards until all your knowledge comes spilling out," Crowley stared Kevin in the eye as he added, "And you _will_ spill it for me, Kevin. All of it."

Dean noticed some of the color drain from the young prophet's face at those words, and Dean found himself desperately hopeful that things would continue to go according to plan.

"But in fairness to you Kevin, you're not the only chump in the room," Crowley said, turning to look at Dean once more. "Did you really think I'd hand over that brute and let you both waltz off to plot a way to kill me?"

"Can you fault a guy for being optimistic?" Dean said with his trademark snark, but he had guessed already that it wouldn't be so easy.

Crowley's eyes narrowed and suddenly Dean dropped to the ground, no longer held against the pillar by an invisible force.

"I didn't come alone, Dean," the demon said with foreboding calmness.

At that moment there came a shuffling sound from the back corner of the room, accompanied by low rumbling growls. Suddenly the horrible smell in the warehouse made a lot more sense. Dean should have recognized the stench right away from all those years ago in Indiana...

Dean felt his blood run cold, because facing off against Crowley's jumbo-sized Hellhound was_ not_ part of the plan.

He went to reach for his Purgatory blade on the ground, but a lazy wave of Crowley's hand sent the weapon skidding off into the distant shadows out of reach.

"I'm going to watch you dance for about…How long do you think it'll take, hmm? I'm betting on a good two minutes before my pooch finishes the job," Crowley taunted as the growling slowly got closer. "And when you're dead, I'm going to walk away with the Boy Scout and Paul Bunyan over there. I think both will have their uses, wouldn't you agree?"

Crowley gave a wicked smile before adding, "Then I'll send a group of my demons to storm through this city and locate the real tablet, which I _know_ you both have hidden."

Dean and Kevin glanced at each other before Kevin bravely said, "The tablet's right here."

Dean knew it was pointless to argue with Crowley. Somehow he had figured out it was a trick, and there would be no persuading him otherwise. But the hunter respected Kevin's courage.

Just as he expected, Kevin's words did not convince the demon.

"Oh please!" Crowley huffed. "That rock you're cradling is a piece of rubbish. It isn't radiating a single _ounce _of heavenly power. Do you think I'm an imbecile?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that," Dean retorted, hoping to get the attention back on himself now that it was obvious Kevin had lied to the demon yet again.

It worked. Crowley glared at him and the shuffling noises started up again, the growling moving ever closer to Dean's location.

Crowley casually waved his hand again and sent Kevin soaring from his previous position of 'pinned to the cement beam' to a new position of 'sprawled on the floor at Sam's feet'. As Kevin's body was flung into Sam's chair, the chair toppled over, leaving Sam strapped to a sideways seat. This time the tablet clattered out of Kevin's grasp upon landing, and the prophet did not move after that. Dean wasn't sure if he was upset the boy wouldn't be of more help, or grateful the kid would be unconscious through the sounds of him being ripped to shreds.

Looking at Sam, who was now staring back wide-eyed and sheet-white, Dean wished his brother could be unconscious through it too. Even if Sam couldn't remember the first time Dean was killed by a Hellhound, the hunter assumed it would be plenty disturbing for him to see that this time around as well. Even if Sam had wanted to forget him completely, there was no way the man would enjoy listening to Dean being disemboweled by a demonic dog.

Dean gave Sam a half-smile to hopefully convince him things weren't as bad as they actually were.

Sam didn't smile back. Instead, his face wrinkled in more discomfort as he shut his eyes, gasping in pain.

Crowley spoke up once more, gleeful and demeaning. "I'm going to enjoy hearing your screams. I bet that macho attitude evaporates the minute the teeth sink in. You're an easy cookie to crumble, or so I've heard," he said, and watched in satisfaction as a flicker of shame danced across Dean's face at the reminder of his stint in Hell.

"So, like I said. You've got about two minutes left to waste the air in this room." The King of Hell clapped his hands together and added more loudly, "Have at him boy!"

Suddenly the growling turned into rough barking, and the shuffling became the pounding of padded feet, sending puffs of dust into the air off the warehouse floor as the Hellhound charged forward.

Right into Dean.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Dean seems to be in big trouble now... Kevin and Sam, too! I wonder how they can possibly wiggle out of this tight spot? And is it possible that Crowley really _didn't_ wipe Sam's memories? So many questions. Here's to hoping the answers lie in chapters to come! lol Please take a moment to leave feedback if you can. It is tremendously appreciated! :D **

**Special Note: Thanks to GuestJ, TG, and a Guest for their compliments and well-wishes to my doggy! Frisker appreciates the support. lol ;) **


	9. Ultimately

**Author's Note: So last we saw, things were looking pretty bad for poor Dean. And Sam. And Kevin. *sigh* These boys and danger have an unhealthy relationship. lol Anyway, does anyone want to see if things get better or worse? ;) Before we begin, I want to thank janiekm, AJTish, Zana Zira, sarah, mb64, HilaNamerchuk, reannablue, Nyx Ro, TG, ncsupnatfan, need2no, rmttts, Lisa Boon, shotgunequalssammy, judyann, GuestJ, SamSam, jojospn, Lewlou15, StyxxsOmega, and pryde23 for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. **

* * *

Robert wasn't sure what he was seeing- or_ not_ seeing, more like.

There was plenty of growling and scuffling to indicate the presence of a big dog, but there was no dog to be observed. Yet little clouds of dust rose off the warehouse floor as something- something apparently freaking_ invisible_\- stalked steadily towards the man called Dean.

Then the Asian kid, Kevin, was suddenly thrown through the air toward Robert, tipping his seat over as he made impact with the chair legs. The boy lay unmoving, save for his continued breathing that assured Robert he was alive, and Robert was left watching Dean from an uncomfortable sideways position.

Robert's head was throbbing something awful at this point and he was fighting against the onslaught of white hot prickling in his skull. He kept his eyes open though, his gaze locked onto Dean. For whatever was creeping towards the man, he got the distinct feeling it was bad. _Really _bad.

Dean gave him an almost-smile as their eyes met briefly, like he was trying to reassure Robert that whatever was coming was something he could handle. But Robert could feel in his gut that the thing Dean was about to confront was something out of a nightmare.

_Out of _my _nightmares._

The weird thought surfaced along with a searing pain from deep within his brain, causing him to at last succumb to the need to shut his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, the pain persisted.

Intensified.

And now he was seeing a flash of Dean standing in a living room wearing a similar expression- the most broken attempt at a smile a man could wear, his eye's shining with repressed tears, and fear etched beneath his cool exterior, while somewhere in the distance a clock chimed midnight…

The picture burned into Robert's head like a hot iron, rippling through his skull and into his very soul.

He opened his eyes again just in time to see Dean being knocked to the ground, presumably by the invisible creature.

**OoO**

Dean barely had a half-second to think before the Hellhound was upon him, yet the memory of being torn to ribbons by a similar beast five years earlier was still fresh enough to inspire rapid defense.

Therefore, in the blip of time it took for the demonic dog to jump him, Dean was hunched down into a pressurized stance. He turned his shoulder forward like a football player blustering through opponents, and when the dog made contact, Dean was knocked to the ground, but at an angle that prevented the monster from chomping down on his throat as he guessed it had intended.

Unfortunately the dog was lunging onto him again in a heartbeat. Claws dug deeply into Dean's left shoulder, eliciting a small shout of pain that he tried to choke off quickly. He didn't want to give Crowley the satisfaction of hearing him screaming this early in the game. As he scrambled around on the floor in search of a weapon, any weapon, he felt blood sliding from his shoulder down his back.

Not ten seconds into the fight, and already he was wounded. Things were not looking good.

Hot dog breath puffed in his face suddenly and another swipe of claws came from somewhere to Dean's right.

He was swept sideways violently, landing with a grunt on his injured shoulder as a sharp stinging sensation erupted from his abdominal region. The Hellhound's claws had dug in again, although thankfully this time the wounds felt shallower. Crowley hollered encouragement to his pet with enthusiasm, and Dean understood that the Hellhound was toying with him to entertain his master. Batting him around like a tennis ball.

Somehow that pissed Dean off even more. He found himself thinking that he was _not_ going to be some invisible Hell-bitch's plaything, and _definitely_ not to entertain the freaking King of Hell.

He lunged forward blindly, hoping he had judged the Hellhound's location appropriately. He was in luck for a change, and collided with what felt like the chest of the brute. He could feel the dog's neck hanging over his shoulder, jaws snapping behind him as it twisted around in Dean's arms, trying to sink its teeth into Dean's flesh.

Dean realized he was in an awkward position now- no weapon within grabbing distance, and he basically had a Great White Shark in a hug. He was probably doomed if he let go, so he continued to wrestle the creature, doing his best to keep control over its flailing body, trying to ignore the way his shoulder and stomach burned from all the abusive motion.

Then out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught sight of movement.

Kevin was no longer lying on the ground out for the count, but instead was reaching his hand out toward the tablet that lay a few feet away. He was moving slowly, obviously doing his best not to draw attention to himself.

So far he was succeeding. Crowley had yet to notice the prophet was awake and active since he was too enraptured by the fight unfolding in front of him. However, it quickly became apparent that Kevin would not be able to go the final distance to reach the tablet without crossing into Crowley's peripheral vision. Not by a lot, but by enough to where the King would surely notice.

Unless he was too distracted to catch anything out of the corner of his eye…

"Are you trying to dominate my pup?" Crowley teased as Dean continued grappling with the mutt, but his strength was wearing thin. Any moment now Dean would weaken completely, and then the dog would have a clean shot at his throat. The fight would be over and the whole plan would have failed. Crowley would get the tablet, the prophet, and Sam. The whole kit and caboodle, and Dean wasn't about to let that happen.

He would rather die.

So Dean did the only thing he could think of to make it possible for Kevin to do what he needed to do.

The hunter called upon his last reserves of strength, quickly repositioned his arms, and shoved the Hellhound's chest firmly, successfully pushing it away from him in a single, powerful move. The dog skidded backwards a couple feet, judging by the streak of dust that was disturbed on the stone floor. It regained composure nearly right away though, and came charging forward again, leaving Dean practically no time at all to react.

_Practically_ no time at all.

Except Dean had already guessed the counter was coming, and he was ready. As the dog's thundering steps closed the distance between them, Dean turned around and pretended to be crawling away in the direction of the too-far-out-of-reach Purgatory blade which Crowley had taken from him. But in reality he was preparing for a mule-kick.

Which he executed just a _millisecond _later than would have been best.

Sharp fangs sunk into his right leg, and this time Dean could not hold back the cry of pain that escaped his lips.

Dean thought he heard other cries than his own echoing through the building, but the fire now crawling through his entire lower half was making it hard to focus.

The dog's jaws stayed locked on Dean's leg, shaking it until Dean was sure his bones would snap. It was incredibly painful, and he knew the agony showed on his face by the way Crowley cheered even harder for his dog. But Dean didn't even care anymore as blood loss and excruciating flesh damage began to muddle his thoughts completely.

Which was, of course, what he had been going for.

What better way to ensure the King of Hell was distracted than to give him the real image of his enemy suffering and dying to focus on?

As the dog's mouth remained clamped around Dean's leg, using him like a chew-toy, Kevin had the chance to crawl the rest of the way to the tablet and begin the work he needed to do- the work that had been the final part of their plan all along- without Crowley picking up on what was going on.

Then something entirely unexpected happened.

A huge blur of movement came barreling into the Hellhound, causing the invisible creature to release Dean's leg.

**OoO**

Robert couldn't bear what he was witnessing. Tipped over in his chair and watching from a sideways angle did nothing to lessen the horror of seeing someone tossed around by an invisible monster, and not just 'someone', but a man who had been his friend only a day before.

_The man is called Dean, like my dog. _

Robert's brain reminded him of the man's name unhelpfully.

_Like my best friend. _

There was that strange thought again, coming to him at the most random of moments and filling him with a sense of having something just on the tip of his tongue. Because the term 'best friend' felt accurate, but still he knew it was wrong somehow.

Yet Robert couldn't dwell on the odd descriptors his mind was dredging up to label Dean with, because his full attention was now being dedicated to the man himself as he fought off a beast.

First Dean's shoulder was ripped open, then his side. The blood was coating his back and torso now, and the sight of it made Robert want to throw up.

_Not again._

Robert didn't stop to ponder why he knew this was an 'again' for Dean. Instead he started rapidly moving his hands across the ground behind him, straining against the ropes until his fingers could brush along the cement floor, seeking anything that could help him break free so he could help Dean fight off the creature.

He didn't care if Dean had lied to him about his identity, or even that the lies had landed Robert in the middle of this mess. He only knew that he wasn't going to let Dean die at the jaws of that ghostly enemy.

_Not again. _

With a sharp intake of pained breath, Robert found what he was looking for. He cut his hand on a jagged piece of broken glass- part of the myriad of debris lying around the empty warehouse's floor. He took a deep breath and then gripped the shard in his right hand, ignoring the cutting sensation as he maneuvered it so he could begin severing his bindings. All the while he could hear Dean wrestling the unseeable thing that had clawed him up. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Robert glance up at the fight and noticed it looked like the human's strength was dwindling.

He picked up the pace.

At last his hands were free and he made quick work of undoing the ropes around his chest. His right hand stung a little as he did so, but he didn't care about that pain. Not when Dean was on his last legs only several yards away. And speaking of legs…

Robert watched in horror as Dean shoved his unseen attacker backward and scrambled towards the weapon he'd abandoned in the distance, but he was nowhere near fast enough. The monster seemed to chomp down hard on Dean's right leg, and began dragging the human back and forth rapidly like an over-sized rag doll.

Dean screamed in pain and the sound of it set Robert's head aflame, causing him to let out a scream too.

He was crawling away from the tangle of ropes and the toppled-over chair, but at the sound of Dean's cries, he collapsed into a fit of anguish. The room blacked out and was replaced by images and sounds now assaulting his mind with red hot aggression…

_The man called Dean pinned to a wall, chest ripped open by unseen blades as a man with yellow eyes watched, pleased._

_The man called Dean writhing on a wooden floor, chest ripped open again, and too much blood everywhere._

_Dean bloodied and broken against the Impala, coughing out the words "I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you.'_

_The man called Dean dragging Robert out of a burning room._

_Dean running towards Robert down a muddy road, shouting "NO!" _

_Dean driving the Impala and singing Bon Jovi with Robert riding shotgun. _

_Dean standing in a dark motel room saying, "I know. I look fantastic!"_

_Dean leaning over Robert as he came-to from a seizure on the floor, eyes full of concern._

_Dean standing in some kind of a shipping facility, stabbing a tall man in a suit with a bone before everything exploded into black and Robert was left standing alone._

Dean. Dean. Dean. All Dean. Every image. Every thought. Every memory…

Memories! They were memories! Memories of Dean.

_Dean, like my best friend. _

No, 'best friend' was still not right enough. Because it was more than just that. _So_ much more…

_Dean, like my best friend…_

_Like my best…Like my b…_

_Brother._

It all clicked and in a seamless transition Robert was no longer just remembering the man called Dean, but remembering _Dean_.

Dean Winchester. His loud-mouthed, over-protective, reckless older brother who he cared about more than any human on the planet.

But if Dean Winchester was his brother- and he felt in his gut that was perhaps the most important truth he'd ever held- then who was Robert? Not Robert _Johnson_ then, obviously. Robert Winchester? No that wasn't it…

Then Robert recalled Dean standing on the doorstep of his apartment just a week ago. The first thing out of his mouth had been…It had been a name. But what name? What was the name?

His head burned like never before as the name fought to the surface of his memories, until with a last burst of agony, one word came rushing to the forefront of his thoughts.

_Sammy._

The familiar nickname acted like the final piece of some great puzzle in his head- a catalyst to a flood of recollection and clarity, easing the headache at last. He didn't waste time basking in the comprehension, though. Instead he grabbed the glass he'd used to break through his ropes and charged toward the invisible demonic pit-bull that was latched onto his sibling.

Because he was Sam Winchester, and he was _not_ going to let his brother get ripped apart by another Hellhound.

**OoO**

The room was no longer full of Dean's howls of pain, but the whining screeches of a demonic K9 as the man who had tackled it sliced deep into the place where its throat must have been with what looked to be a long shard of broken glass. The man was roaring at the beast as he slaughtered it, but his words were unclear. In fact, most everything was unclear to Dean as his life blood trickled slowly but steadily from him.

Then the hound stopped crying and the man stopped shouting. Almost as soon as the beast went silent, the man was scrambling toward Dean frantically.

This time his words were clear as a bell, because they were all Dean could have wanted to hear and more.

"Dean! Hey, I've got you. Stay with me man. Just stay with me," instructed Sam as he applied pressure to the wound on Dean's leg.

Sam paid no regard to the angry demon standing ten feet away until the slow clapping began.

Then the younger man finally turned towards the King of Hell, and Dean was certain that if looks could kill, the demon would be dead from the icy stare-down Sam was giving him.

"Well done Moose," Crowley complimented dryly, his face calm and his eyes alight with disdain. "But I don't think it's a wrap just yet."

Crowley raised his right hand, holding up two fingers and a thumb in preparation to snap. As he moved, the room seemed to grow darker and the air itself felt menacing. Dean knew Crowley was done messing around. He was ready to wipe the both of them off the playing board, and then he would steal Kevin.

But…

Unfortunately for Crowley, the prophet in question was already done with the set-up for the spell he'd been preparing. The chant he'd been muttering under his breath during most of the conflict was complete, and he had sliced his hand open with a bit of glass similar to Sam's improvised weapon.

"Hey Crowley!" Kevin shouted from across the room. "Remember when you asked if I thought you were an imbecile?"

Crowley spun around, ready to attack, but he was too late.

"I'm going to have to go with 'yes'!" Kevin declared, and then slammed his bloodied palm down on the fake tablet.

The fake tablet that was covered with a carefully constructed demon-banishing spell Kevin had written there intentionally.

The tablet glowed with magic and a massive gust of icy wind howled through the room before suddenly the King of Hell was no longer in the building.

When it was over, Kevin was smirking with pride and Sam was sweeping his eyes around the building, confused by Crowley's sudden disappearance.

Dean just breathed a sigh of exhausted relief because the plan had ultimately worked, and against the odds, somehow they had all survived.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Well it looks like the boys managed to triumph after all. Maybe things are starting to look up for them! Well, minus Dean's injuries... But Sam seems to be doing better at least! I wonder how Dean will react to Sam's mental rejuvenation? ;) If you have a moment, please do leave feedback. It's always greatly appreciated! :)**

**Special Note For sarah: I really am grateful that you've continued to show so much interest in this story. YOU rock. ;) **


	10. A Psychological Thing

**Author's Note: So Sam's memories are back, Kevin helped save the day, and Crowley got the boot for now! Anyone care to check in on Dean and see how he's doing? ;) Before we begin, I want to thank Nyx Ro, sarah, reannablue, HilaNamerchuk, TG, jojospn, Lewlou15, GuestJ, StyxxsOmega, need2no, judyann, Zana Zira, Er-BearG32, SamSam, rmttts, NerdAngel, AJTish, janiekm, mb64, and ncsupnatfan for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

Dean's relief was short-lived as his adrenaline quickly wore off, leaving him to feel the full effects of being battered and still bleeding.

"Sammy," Dean coughed out as his hand automatically moved towards his little brother to check him for injuries. But he caught himself, remembering that it wasn't Sam, but Sam's alter ego, whom he was reaching out to. He quickly dropped his hand before saying, "Uh, Robert…You ok? I'm sor-" he stopped talking mid-apology, a sudden surge of pain climbing through his ribcage and making it hard to breathe. Yeah, Dean was pretty sure he'd broken at least a rib or two during the dog fight.

Despite being 'Robert', Sam looked surprisingly concerned about Dean's condition. He took off his jacket and pushed it against the bite wounds on Dean's leg, shooting the older man an apologetic glance as Dean flinched. "Kevin! I need you to get over here and put pressure on his shoulder!" Sam called out to the prophet. The kid ran over to them and removed his own jacket to place against Dean's damaged shoulder blade.

Dean made a small choking sound which he quickly covered by joking, "You gu's suck at pl'ying par'medics you know that? Where's m' morphine?" His words were slurring slightly as his body started to feel colder.

Sam was scanning Dean's wounds with intense focus, and he looked very unhappy as he said, "Damn it. You really need a hospital Dean." Worry creased the younger man's forehead and Dean allowed himself to soak in the attention, if just for a moment, because he knew it couldn't last. He was certain 'Robert' would want to be rid of him as soon as he was safely in a medical facility. Just like Sam had apparently wanted to be rid of him enough to erase him from his memories…

"M'ybe we could jus' wait h'r a sec…" Dean began to protest, wanting just a little while longer to sit with his brother.

But the blood loss was really getting to him now, and despite the efforts of his companions, he was starting to see dark spots. He began to realize that he might not have to experience losing Sam because there was a chance his injuries would kill him first.

Something about that didn't sit right with Dean.

Maybe it was the way Sam was looking at him- pale and trying not to show how frantic he was getting, just like he used to in this type of situation when he had known who he was. Or maybe it was because Dean wasn't confident Kevin was ready to watch Sam's back like the man would need now that he had pissed off the King of Hell, but couldn't even remember how to draw a damn devil's trap to defend himself. Whatever the reason, Dean felt a sudden surge of need to keep going.

"No…" Dean moaned, fighting to stay conscious. Yet try as he might, Dean couldn't win the battle to keep awake.

"Crap, he's going into shock. Kevin, call an ambulance!" commanded Sam in an urgent tone. Kevin's hand dropped from Dean's shoulder and the kid rushed to the far end of the warehouse seeking reception on his cell. He must have found it, because a second later he was babbling at a 911 representative, giving their location and explaining the situation. Dean heard the words 'dog attack' and almost laughed, but the sound came out more like a wheeze.

Damn those broken ribs.

As his eyes drifted closed, the last thing Dean was aware of was Sam's hand gripping his own tightly while he quietly pleaded, "Stay with me Dean, please. You can't leave me again. Not again."

_Not again?_

Dean experienced the thought sluggishly, and then darkness washed over him completely.

**OoO**

Sam sat in a plastic chair in the hospital waiting room, alone. It was an all-too familiar situation for him, the only big difference this time being that he had more thoughts to distract himself from panicking with than usual. Regaining all of one's memories after a year of living a complete lie tended to offer a lot of material to work with.

And he did remember. Everything.

He remembered Castiel and Dean taking down Dick Roman before promptly disappearing. He remembered Crowley kidnapping Kevin, and himself being left to assume the prophet was doomed to die. He remembered standing in the shipping room at Sucracorp realizing that he was not just alone in that place, but alone in entire the world.

No Bobby. No Cas. No Kevin.

And the thing that had hurt worst of all: No Dean.

He remembered feeling like his whole world had just exploded into an even bigger nightmare than when the Leviathans had surfaced.

So he ran.

At first he had backed the Impala out of the Sucracorp signpost and driven aimlessly, trying to find a reason not to drive the car right off the road, because why keep going if there was no one to go _with_? That night he finally understood why so many years before, when they had first discovered the Croatoan virus and Sam had been infected, Dean had told him he was tired and didn't want to keep going alone. Dean had chosen to stay and probably die by his brother's side rather than to keep fighting without him. Sam had wished he'd been given that option because he would undoubtedly have taken it...

After that night's drive away from Sucracorp, things got fuzzy.

It was like he could remember suddenly going to a print shop and making fake ID's for one 'Robert Johnson', but he couldn't remember ever officially deciding to do it. It was as though his brain just switched over and made him into a totally new guy. From the next day on, all the way until his kidnapping, Sam hadn't just lived the lie, but had really _believed_ himself to be Robert. Then the Hellhound fight had happened, and suddenly it all became clear. He was Sam Winchester, not Robert Johnson, and Dean was not just some person he'd met a week ago, but his big brother.

The same man he'd thought he'd lost forever.

Sam still had no idea how Dean was alive or where he had been the entire past year. In most circumstances, Sam would have been preparing to test Dean with silver, holy water, borax…The works. But Crowley had been after Dean, not to mention Dean had risked his own neck to save Sam's, and that meant it really was his brother.

Somehow Dean was alive, and Sam almost didn't really care what had caused his memory lapse because he had his brother back and that was what mattered most to him right then.

Well, that and the need to make sure Dean _stayed_ alive.

His brother was in surgery at the moment being treated for a broken leg, along with a punctured lung caused by one of two broken ribs, and a collection of nasty lacerations created by the Hellhound's claws. Sam was pretty sure the hospital was more than a little skeptical that Dean had really been mauled by just a 'stray dog' like he had told them. But Sam could care less if they believed his story, so long as they did their jobs and kept Dean breathing.

He was definitely _not_ able to lose Dean again.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone entering the waiting room. His eyes shot to the person, hoping it was a doctor coming to update him on his brother's condition. Instead, he saw Kevin Tran walking towards him. The kid looked exhausted, and Sam realized the past several hours had to have been hard on him, too. He was young and still very new to the whole 'life-threatening battles against demons' thing.

Still, the first words out of Kevin's mouth were, "Any news on Dean?"

Sam appreciated Kevin's concern for his brother. The prophet might not be trained as a warrior, but he was loyal and considerate, and Sam was grateful they had him on their side. Not to mention he had technically saved their bacon with his fake tablet spell trick.

"Not yet. They're still in surgery for his leg I think," replied Sam before asking, "How's the car?" Sam had ridden to the hospital in the ambulance with Dean. He had told Kevin to leave before the paramedics arrived, so he wouldn't have to answer any questions, and had instructed Kevin to collect their weapons from the warehouse and go back to the Impala Kevin said they had driven over in. After that Kevin was to head over to the hospital to meet up with Sam.

"The Impala is parked in the ER lot. It's safe, and all of our stuff is stashed in the trunk so no one walking past will see anything incriminating. I got the things Dean and I left at our base camp, too," Kevin replied.

"Good call," Sam said. "And, you know, thanks for what you did with the tablet back there. You really pulled through just in time," Sam added with sincerity.

Kevin shrugged off the compliment, saying it was partially Dean's idea to use a fake tablet, and that he had only written the spell into it as a back-up plan. But Sam noticed Kevin straightened up in his seat a little, adding a more confident set to his shoulders. The kid was clearly pleased to have successfully helped in their victory.

Then there was a pause in the conversation in which the two men sat there unsure of what else to say to one another.

The prophet eventually broke the silence. "So...you remember everything now, right?" he asked in a hesitant tone.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I mean, I'm pretty sure. I guess I wouldn't know if I was missing something though, right? I lived a whole year thinking I was someone else…" Sam's voice trailed off for a moment. "Did you guys ever figure out what happened to me? Was I cursed by Crowley or something?" he asked Kevin, certain that Dean would have been looking into it the minute he realized Sam's head was messed up.

Kevin was quiet for a moment. "According to Crowley, you weren't cursed," he finally said, appearing uncomfortable.

"Then what happened?" Sam pressed. He wasn't thrilled with how nervous Kevin looked about explaining, and he could only assume something very bad had happened.

"Uh, well, we aren't really sure exactly," Kevin began, and Sam sighed. Of course they didn't have answers. When was it ever that easy?

But then Kevin continued speaking.

"I have a theory though," the kid said slowly.

"What's your theory?" Sam inquired.

"Dissociative Fugue," Kevin stated, looking Sam in the eye as if waiting for Sam to instruct him to clarify what he meant.

But something about the phrase actually seemed familiar to Sam. He could have sworn he'd heard that term before. Maybe in college? Yes, definitely college. A psychology class, actually. Way back when he had taken Psychology 101 at Stanford...

"Isn't that like a kind of amnesia?" Sam responded, vaguely remembering how the condition worked.

"Close," said Kevin, seeming slightly surprised that Sam had a general idea of what the condition was. "It's a dissociative disorder. Something that messes with perception, sense of identity…That sort of stuff. Basically, a person who went through a traumatic event can have a stress episode in which they forget who they are. They build a new identity and run away to live as that new person. The word "fugue" is literally Latin for-"

"Flight," Sam interrupted, all too familiar with the Latin language. "So the person tries to "fly" from whatever upset them, am I right?"

Kevin nodded.

Sam stared at the floor for a moment, processing the news. The theory made sense, as much as he didn't like it. If it wasn't a curse, it seemed possible that the problem had come from within him. And he _did_ remember clearly how desperate and alone he had felt just after Dean and Castiel vanished. How much he didn't want to keep going without his brother, yet how he had known he could never just put to shame everything Dean had done to protect him by giving up on his life entirely.

Perhaps his brain had come up with a compromise.

And it wouldn't be the first time he'd had a mental episode, would it? This was a lot like last year with his hallucinations of Lucifer, only maybe worse because this time he didn't just lose track of reality, but he'd lost himself, too.

"Does Dean know this?" Sam asked, thinking about all the times over the past week he'd been hanging out with 'Garth' and how troubled the man had seemed. Now it all made sense. Dean had probably been reacting to watching his little brother fall apart, again.

Sam was surprised and a bit relieved when Kevin responded, "No. I didn't think of it until after Crowley said…" Kevin paused, seeming to consider the best way to phrase whatever he was about to say. "Crowley said you 'did it to yourself', but I couldn't imagine you volunteering to block out all your memories. So I got to thinking that maybe Crowley meant the problem was a psychological thing, you know?" Kevin explained.

"You mean you thought I might have gone crazy?" Sam inquired, trying not to be offended.

"Not really. I just thought, maybe it was PTSD or something? And that reminded me of dissociative fugue. I learned about it in my AP Psychology class in high school. I remembered that it was an identity crisis brought on by trauma. From what Dean has told me, you lost everyone you had left in one go. So I figured you'd qualify," Kevin said with a shrug.

Sam was slightly pleased to hear the prophet hadn't just assumed he was a basket case. "Yeah, maybe you're right. I mean, I suppose it all fits," he agreed.

They were quiet again after that, just waiting for the verdict on Dean's condition from the doctors.

**OoO**

After a couple more hours, a female surgeon walked into the waiting area and called, "Robert Johnson?"

Sam was out of his chair in a heartbeat and strode to the surgeon quickly. "That's me. I'm Robert," he replied, inwardly cringing at the name. It felt so foolish to say it now that he remembered the truth.

"Robert, your cousin is stable," the surgeon informed him calmly, and Sam let out a breath he felt like he had been holding since he killed the Hellhound.

"The repairs on his leg went smoothly," the surgeon continued, "Though he'll be in a cast for a good six weeks at least. The damaged ribs are bandaged so they'll be held in place to heal. Those should be fine even before the leg cast comes off. His lung has also been successfully re-inflated. The blood loss was our biggest concern, naturally, but your cousin is a fighter. His vitals were dangerously low when he arrived, but he held on for us. We gave him a transfusion and he received over eighty stitches for the wounds on his shoulder, abdomen, and upper thigh. But like I said, he's stable now."

"Thank you, doctor. I'm really glad to hear that," Sam replied sincerely. "When can I see him?"

"He is sleeping now, and heavily medicated for obvious reasons. But you're welcome to go sit with him if you'd like. I'll show you to his room," the surgeon said.

Sam looked back at Kevin, and the prophet called over, "You go ahead. I've got to go, uh, get something to eat at the cafeteria."

Sam knew Kevin was lying to give him a chance to see his brother alone, and he was grateful. "Ok. Don't wander off too far, and come by in a bit so I know you're, um, still here, ok?" Sam replied, indicating that Kevin would need to be careful and check in and prove he hadn't been kidnapped by demons again. Kevin nodded, and then Sam followed the surgeon out of the waiting room and down the hall to ICU Bay 5. The surgeon left him standing outside the door, presumably to go check in with her other patients.

Sam took a deep breath and opened the door to the little room slowly.

There were a bunch of machines hooked up to Dean on the left side of the bed, closer to the far wall. Beeping filed the room as the devices monitored everything from Dean's heart-rate to his brain waves. It was a familiar sight, actually, given the number of times Sam had sat in hospital rooms while Dean was recovering from hunting injuries. Sam was able to read all the information on the little screens from years of exposure and hounding medical staff for reassurances. The surgeon hadn't lied. Though his vitals weren't strong as they could be, they were at safe enough levels that Dean was stable for the time being.

Sam moved to the chair on the right side of the bed and sat next to his brother, eying the man with a weary sigh.

Dean's face was scraped and bruised all over from having been tossed around by the Hellhound. His torso was wrapped tightly in bandages for his broken ribs, and his right leg was covered in a plaster cast up to his thigh.

"You're gonna be pissed about the leg cast, man. It's the Edgar incident all over again," Sam joked to his sleeping sibling, remembering the time they had first met Dick Roman's assistant, Edgar. The Leviathan had thrown Dean across Bobby's salvage yard and broken his leg, and Dean had whined about the cast non-stop the whole time he wore it until he eventually sawed it off of himself three days earlier than he was supposed to. Sam made a mental note to ensure Dean kept _this_ cast on for the whole of the recommended healing time.

Sam sat there for a moment just listening to the sounds of the steady beeps coming from Dean's monitors, and the calming rhythm of Dean's breathing.

The symphony of evidence that his brother was, in fact, alive.

Even though Dean had vanished an entire year earlier, due to Sam's memory lapse it felt much like he had lost his brother only days ago. He was positively overwhelmed with the relief of knowing Dean had not died after killing Dick. He still wanted to ask his brother how that was, but he also knew that finding out 'how' would never be more important than the fact itself.

Sam stayed in the chair for hours, drifting in and out of sleep as he continued to listen to the heart-rate monitor and his brother's breathing. Nursing staff popped in from time to time to evaluate Dean's condition before leaving to focus on their other patients. Kevin also checked in a few times, but he always left soon after, too. He seemed to want to make sure it was just Sam there when Dean woke up.

Which is why, when Dean's eyes finally fluttered slowly open, Sam was the only person around to eagerly say, "Hey Dean! You with me?"

**OoO**

Dean's eyelids felt like lead, his mouth was dry, and his torso and leg were stinging, hot, and itchy. All-in-all, he wasn't the most comfortable a man could be. Still, he'd take the discomfort over death and was grateful just to be breathing as he forced his eyes open groggily.

The bright fluorescent lighting of an ICU room assaulted him instantly, causing him to squint and groan.

"Hey Dean! You with me?" a voice to his right grabbed Dean's attention and he twisted his head to the side to see Sam sitting in a chair next to him, bags under his eyes, but alert and wholeheartedly focused on Dean.

He was genuinely surprised to see that Sam was present, since he'd assumed 'Robert' would want to leave once Dean was in the hands of the medical professionals. What reason could he possibly have to want to check up on the stranger who lied to him, got him kidnapped, and nearly got him killed?

"R'bert?" Dean asked, the dryness in his mouth making it hard to talk at first.

Sam's brow furrowed and he glanced at the floor for a brief second. When he looked back up he was smiling a little, but in an awkward, guilty sort of way.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, instinctively wanting to give the man next to him comfort.

"Dean, I…I know I'm not Robert Johnson. I remember it all now," Sam said slowly, and Dean felt his heart-rate kick up. The machine next to him beeped a little faster as a result, and Sam laughed nervously. "Calm down. I don't want the nurses busting me for getting you worked up, ok?" the taller man joked.

"So do you…I mean, do you remember…?" Dean stumbled over his words, finding it hard to ask the question that was most prominent in his mind.

Did Sam remember choosing to forget Dean?

"Do I remember who _you_ are, too?" Sam inquired, wrongly assuming that was the thought Dean had been hesitant to finish. "Yeah, Dean. I remember that you're my pain-in-the-ass brother," he added with another small smile.

Dean was torn between joy that Sam's memories were back in place, and fear for what it would mean. Would Sam leave him now? Would he go back to the life he'd built for himself as 'Robert'? Goodness knows the guy deserved to be happy, and he _had_ seemed happy as Robert. Well, up until Dean had waltzed back into the picture to muck it all up, anyway. He really _was _a pain-in-the-ass brother, wasn't he? So naturally Sam would want to go off on his own now. He was better off that way, right? It was why Sam had wanted enough to forget everything in the first place, _right_?

"Dean, I'm sorry," Sam said quietly, his words pulling Dean away from the downward spiral his brain had been riding.

"_You're _sorry? I got you kidnapped by the freaking King of Hell. I'm pretty sure you've got it mixed up who should be apologizing to who," Dean stated flatly.

Sam sighed. "You know that wasn't really your fault," he said seriously.

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed. "Sure. Just like all the other times you got screwed over had nothing to do with me, huh?"

Sam looked like he was about to argue that statement, but at that moment Kevin entered the room.

"Dean! You're awake!" the prophet said, coming over to stand diagonally behind Sam's chair. "You kind of had us worried," he added with a pointed look at Sam that only Dean saw. Dean felt bad for being so happy to hear his brother had been worrying.

"Nah. It takes more than a Hellhound to get rid of me these days," Dean said nonchalantly, but regretted it when he saw Sam's expression darken a bit. It wasn't too long ago that one Hellhound _had_ been enough to successfully end Dean's life, and even if Sam wanted to forget him, he apparently still hated to think about Dean getting ripped up by that dog.

Dean cleared his throat and brushed over the awkward moment.

"So, any news on when I get this stinking thing off?" he asked, directing the question to both Sam and Kevin while pointing to the cast on his leg.

Sam looked a bit less brooding as he said, "Hate to break it to you Dean, but it sounds like you've got at least a month and a half of gimp life ahead of you." The younger Winchester managed a smile while Dean's face morphed into unhappiness.

"What are you smirking about?" Dean said. "_You're_ the one who'll be running all my errands for the next couple months!" But then Dean remembered that Sam probably _wouldn't _be there during his recovery, and that his little brother would likely be going back to his old-but-new life, free of his burdensome big brother.

"I mean, you know, you would have been…" Dean faltered and cleared his throat again. "Anyway," he said, quickly trying to cover up his feelings. "If I'm stuck as a cripple, can the doctors at least give me decent pain meds? My everything is burning pretty damn bad right about now," Dean griped to change the subject.

Sam immediately stood up to go get a nurse, leaving Kevin alone in the room with Dean.

"What do you mean Sam 'would have been' the one to help you?" Kevin asked, breaking the silence. Dean wouldn't meet Kevin's eyes and wasn't sure what to say. He didn't really feel in the mood to open up with a guy who was barely even a legal adult.

"Dean, are you thinking Sam's going to-" Kevin was cut off by Sam returning with a friendly looking, albeit rather aged, female nurse shuffling along at his heels.

"Alrighty! Time for me to pump you full of the good stuff!" she chirped, and then merrily adjusted the tubes hooking up to Dean's IV. Within seconds Dean could feel the effects of a fresh morphine drip. "This should keep you comfy for the next six hours at least," the nurse informed him. Then she patted his good shoulder once and meandered out of the room. "Holler if you need anything kiddo!" she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the hallway.

"Kiddo?" Sam asked Dean with raised eyebrows, clearly amused that his older brother was being treated like a little boy by the nursing staff.

"Shut it," Dean tossed back without menace, and then yawned. He was starting to feel his eyelids sagging, and it was increasingly clear that unconsciousness was not far off. "Damn tha's good s'uff," he slurred.

"You should probably get some sleep. We'll be here when you wake up," Sam assured him.

Dean chose to focus on that promise, and not the question of how long it could last, as he drifted back into peaceful oblivion.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! For the record, Dissociative Fugue _is_ a real disorder. You can look it up on 'psych central dot com' if you're curious. I first learned about it in my college Psychology 101 class several years ago, but I got to study it in a little more detail when I took Abnormal Psychology (Psych 240). By which point season 8 had happened, and I got to thinking about Sam... lol Anyway, facts and my own inspiration aside, I'm betting you're all ready to smack Dean for not being able to see Sam cares about him, huh? Well there is only one chapter left in this story, and I can promise it contains the brothers actually talking to one another about their feelings! ;) If you have a moment, please do leave feedback because it's downright delightful to receive. :D Thanks again! **


	11. Like They Should Be

**Author's Note: Ok people. This is the final chapter, complete with the brothers having a real _talk_. Are you ready for this? lol Before we commence, I want to thank janiekm, AJTish, StyxxsOmega, angellec, ncsupnatfan, NerdAngel, lobita, ImpalaLove, need2no, TG, HilaNamerchuk, reannablue, Zana Zira, lenail125, GuestJ, sarah, judyann, kingdommast, mb64, SuperVikinggirl, rmttts, SamSam, Nyx Ro, Er-BearG32, sunshine102897, jojospn, and pryde23 for their recent reviews and support. And thanks to every reader! :)  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. If I did, there'd probably be a lot more broments and a lot less of a Hellatus. lol **

* * *

The next day Dean was moved from the ICU to a regular hospital ward, and two days after that he left the medical facility altogether.

He was given a prescription for some painkillers, which the doctor explained to Sam were meant to offset any remaining discomfort in Dean's shoulder, torso, leg, etc. Sam knew that Dean would probably just fill the prescription and not use it. His brother would save the pills for a possible emergency in the future because Dean had rarely been one to allow himself medication _after_ his stay in a hospital. Still, Sam made a mental note to at least try and get his brother to look after himself.

That was, if Dean would let him.

The man had been acting rather strangely over the past few days, and it was really starting to get to Sam. It was as if the older Winchester couldn't decide whether he wanted Sam around or not. One minute Sam would be helping and Dean would look grateful for the assistance. The next, Dean would be aggressively telling him he could do everything himself and that Sam shouldn't feel obligated to help.

Sam had already tried explaining to Dean several times that he wasn't just helping out of some sense of requirement, but unfortunately a hospital was not the ideal location for a heart-to-heart, and Sam had found that Dean was even more of a closed book than usual with all the nurses running in and out of his room.

Dean hadn't even chosen yet to divulge his whereabouts over the past year. Sam had inquired multiple times about what had happened after Dick was killed, including what had become of Castiel, but so far Dean had either found ways to dodge the questions, or had been saved by the intrusion of medical staff at just the right moment. Sam had asked Kevin, too, but the young prophet would only say that Dean had been 'dealing with monsters all year', and that Sam should let Dean talk about it when he was ready.

Which worried Sam, because if Dean needed to be 'ready' to talk about something, then that something could only have been bad for his brother.

Still, despite how frustrating it was not having all the answers- watching Dean shut him out like he had so many times in the past- Sam wasn't going to push too hard just yet. After all, he wasn't particularly eager to talk about his own past year either, so it would be relatively unfair to force that sort of a discussion out of his brother straight away...

In fact, that was another conversation they hadn't had yet, although this was also more due to Dean's hesitance than Sam's. Sam had tried once to explain about his memory issues, meaning to discuss Kevin's theory with Dean, but his brother had changed the subject so abruptly that Sam got the feeling the topic actually upset the older man. Sam began to suspect that perhaps his brother _had_ figured out the truth already, and he just didn't want to talk about it because he was bothered by how easily Sam had fallen prey to mental troubles again.

Sam hadn't been able to muster the courage to bring it up since.

**OoO**

When Dean was finally discharged, a nurse wheeled him out of the hospital and from there Dean hobbled on crutches to where Sam was waiting in the Impala, engine running. Kevin helped Dean into the passenger seat when he arrived. (Sam had wanted to be the one to escort Dean to the car, but Kevin shot the idea down by reminding him Dean would likely murder both of them if he found out Sam had ever let Kevin drive the vehicle.)

"You got everything?" Sam asked his brother when he was all settled in.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Dean replied a little grouchily, referring to the fact that Sam had been responsible for taking care of Dean's things while he was in the hospital. All Dean had needed to take out with him was the bagged bundle of his bloody, messy clothing from the night of his injuries.

Sam ignored the quip and turned to the prophet. "How about you Kevin?" he asked. Sam needed to be sure that no one was leaving anything important behind.

The plan was to head to Dean's motel room for the night, and the next day Sam guessed they'd be blowing town. Kevin's spell had sent Crowley back to Hell, but that wouldn't last forever. Kevin said it was supposed to keep him away for one week, but considering the fact that this was magic none of them were particularly well versed in, they weren't taking any chances by lingering. They planned to be long gone from Lexington, Nebraska by the time the King was top-side, which meant leaving as soon as possible. Of course, ideally Kevin would have used the demon-killing spell he'd initially escaped with to eliminate Crowley entirely, but he hadn't been graced with the time to collect the various herbs and items which it would have required. Instead he was only able to use a simple blood-spell of banishment.

"All my stuff is back at the motel," Kevin stated in response to Sam's question.

Satisfied that no one was missing any belongings, Sam drove the Impala away from the hospital ER and towards the motel.

**OoO**

Kevin crashed when they got to the room. The kid was still used to staying up all night and sleeping through the late mornings, and he was noticeably exhausted from all the recent daytime activity. (Dean had requested Kevin stay with Sam as much as possible, just in case Crowley broke out of Hell early and made a bee-line for the kid. Which meant Kevin had been spending his days mostly in Dean's hospital room.) Sam took a shower while the prophet slept, and that left Dean to sit on the unoccupied twin bed and think.

It was the exact sort of activity he'd been avoiding over the past three days.

Dean knew he'd been snapping at Sam a lot lately regarding things the younger man did to help. Sometimes he let himself just enjoy that fact that his little brother was there to do things like make sure he didn't forget something at the hospital. But then he would remember that Sam had wanted to be free of responsibility for Dean before...

And automatically Dean would push Sam away with attitude and aggression.

Dean told himself that he needed to get used to life without Sam's help anyway, because Sam needed to be rid of him. Plus, now that Sam had his memories back and could effectively hide from demons on his own, there was no excuse for Dean to keep hanging around and cramping his style. Tomorrow they would have to go their separate ways so Sam could get to live the good life he wanted- heck, the life he _deserved_\- and that would be that.

Still, it wasn't like knowing he was giving Sam what he wanted made the fact that what Sam wanted was to be _away from him_ hurt any less.

It was why Dean hadn't yet discussed with Sam the origin of the man's memory issues. Sam had tried already to give an explanation, but Dean had panicked slightly and wiggled out of the conversation before Sam could really dish out any information. Which was strange, because Dean had wanted desperately to know what had caused Sam's problem from the moment he found 'Robert'. But now Dean couldn't bring himself to hear the answer he knew Sam would give him.

Sam had _chosen_ to let his memories go, and most importantly, to forget his sorry excuse for a brother.

"Hey, you want to come with me to get Dean?" Sam asked, startling Dean a little. He'd been too lost in thought and hadn't heard Sam come out of the bathroom.

"'Get Dean'?" Dean echoed, momentarily confused. Then he remembered the Australian Sheppard holed up in Sam's apartment, and he understood. "Right. The _dog_ Dean," he said before Sam could clarify.

Sam had been checking up on the dog over the past several days, and it was apparently doing pretty well. According to Sam, Dean the Dog had been majorly relieved when his human companion came back the first time. The way Sam told it, even Dean the Human, who was definitely not a dog person, couldn't deny that the animal's reaction to it's owner's return had sounded adorable. (What had sounded less adorable was the accident the dog had apparently made all over the living room carpeting, but Dean could hardly blame the critter for letting his bladder go during the nearly twenty four hours of time he'd been cooped up in the apartment before Sam got back to him. And Sam had just been too relieved Crowley didn't hurt the dog to care what it had done.)

Dean was glad the dog was doing well, but still... Hanging out with his little brother and that dog before they both left him for greener pastures didn't exactly sound like a lot of fun, so Dean said, "Nah, you go. I don't think the dog will miss me."

It wasn't the response he'd been planning to let tumble out of his mouth. It didn't even necessarily make sense. He'd meant to say something more like 'you go because I'm tired and want to sleep' or even 'you go because I don't think the dog _missed_ me.' Yet the words that came out instead sounded far more bitter and revealing than he'd have hoped for.

Sam gave him a long look before insisting, "No. Get your coat, you're coming with me."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam didn't give him the chance. "We need to talk," the younger Winchester stated firmly, and he headed out the motel door leaving Dean to swing himself onto his crutches and follow after.

**OoO**

Despite Sam having insisted there was a need for discussion, they drove in silence down the street to Sam's apartment. It was a very short distance to travel, but due to Dean's gimp leg, walking the several blocks was not the best option.

Sam parked the Impala and strode around to open Dean's door for him. Dean grumbled something about still having two functional hands, but Sam ignored his griping and stood by to make sure he got onto his crutches without falling. When Dean was officially out of the car and standing upright, Sam closed the door behind them and lead the way to his apartment.

"I'll go in first and get a hold on Dean. Otherwise he'll probably knock you over from excitement," Sam said as he unlocked the door. "I'll let you know when it's safe to come in."

Dean grunted in agreement and watched his younger brother enter the building. The door closed quickly and Dean was left on the porch listening to the muffled sounds of Sam trying to calm a hyper K9.

He wasn't too eager to see the dog again. He didn't have anything against the animal itself, but somehow since Sam got his memories back the creature had become an unwelcome reminder that the only remnant of him left in Sam's life after Sam got rid of his memories was the dog he had named after his brother.

As if in Sam's subconscious, his older brother was nothing more than a mangy mutt.

He hadn't thought about it like that before, but then again, _before_ he didn't know that Sam's amnesia was something he had opted for on his own.

_I regret to inform you, Dean, that the gargantuan head-case did this all to himself._

Crowley's words still rang out in Dean's head, still cutting him deeper than he'd care to admit. Sam had _chosen_ to forget him, and somehow Dean had managed to undo that by showing up and getting Sam kidnapped, tortured, and nearly killed. But it wouldn't be the first time he'd ruined Sam's chances at peace by getting him into all sorts of trouble, would it? No wonder Sam had wanted to be rid of him…

Well, today was the last day Dean would spend with the younger man before he did what was best for Sam, and what Sam clearly had wanted… The last day before it was Dean's turn to let his brother go, no matter how much he didn't want to.

"Ok he's in his crate! Come on in!" Sam shouted from the other side of the door. Dean took a deep breath and twisted the handle, hobbling awkwardly on his crutches over the small step into the apartment.

Immediately he heard excited whining coming from a dog crate in the living room. The plastic cage shook as the dog scuffled around inside, trying to find a way to break free and get to the human he hadn't seen in several days.

"He missed you a lot, apparently. You grew on him pretty quick," Sam said with a smirk.

Dean couldn't stop himself from replying with, "Well, he'll get over me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked. There was something in his tone that made Dean think they were about to have the talk Sam had mentioned earlier.

Dean just shrugged, not really sure what to say. Because what _could_ he say that would make Sam understand how he was feeling? And more importantly, what could he say that wouldn't make Sam feel guilty and convince him he needed to stick around- that he needed to get stuck with Dean again? As much as a part of him selfishly wanted to let Sam talk himself into that, the bigger part of him wouldn't let Sam suffer that way.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Sam asked.

Dean avoided eye contact as he replied, "No. Why?"

Sam's face grew serious as understanding struck him. "Dean, please tell me you're not planning on leaving," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

_Damn it_, thought Dean. He'd been half-hoping his refusal to give much information away would stall the conversation, but the kid had always been good at reading what was going through his mind…

"How could you even _think_ of doing that again?" Sam looked genuinely shocked as he inquired.

"Again?" Dean replied, anger creeping into his tone. "You say that like I had a choice the first time. I got sucked into freaking Purgatory, Sam! You think I _wanted_ to spend a year as monster bait? Every day…That whole year… I was thinking about my little brother stuck cleaning up Leviathans and trying to save the world by himself. But when I finally get back to him I find out-" Dean stopped ranting for a second, trying to reign in his emotions. "I didn't choose to leave you, and I wouldn't choose to _forget_ you either," he finally finished.

Dean was breathing heavily, ignoring the sting it caused in his recently mended lung, and staring intently at the carpet while gripping the handles on his crutches extra tightly in an effort to calm down. He hadn't meant to blow up like that, but how dare Sam imply that he was doing something offensive by leaving when that was all Sam had wanted in the first place?

"Ok, ignoring the fact that you were apparently in _Purgatory _all last year, which is awful, by the way…You think I _chose_ to forget everything?" Sam asked in a small voice. "To forget _you_?"

Dean looked up and found Sam wearing a deeply pained expression, and something wasn't right about it. Sam should be excited to hear Dean was giving him what he wanted, not looking like Dean had just kicked his puppy…

"Why do you sound surprised?" Dean asked warily.

"Oh my God you really do," Sam answered, looking like he couldn't believe it. "Why the _hell _would you think that?"

"Because Crowley already told me that you took your memories away yourself!" Dean shot back.

"And Crowley's always been such a reliable source of intel, right?" Sam replied in a tone oozing sarcasm.

Dean stared at Sam, ready to argue, but nothing was coming out of his mouth. Sam looked genuinely upset by the accusation… Maybe Crowley had lied?

Sam seemed to read the hesitance on Dean's face, because the next words out of his mouth were quiet, almost gentle. He looked his brother in the eye as he said, "If I'd wanted to forget you, then why would I have built my whole new life _around_ you?"

"You didn't, Sam. You named a _dog_ after me. You built everything else around Bobby and dad and-" Dean heatedly explained.

"No I didn't." Sam cut in. "I used their names, but everything else was you. I thought you'd have noticed that. I mean that was basically the _first_ thing I noticed once I was back to myself. The childhood memories, the beer I stocked my fridge with, the way my 'uncle' died-"

"You said he died because of a bomb," Dean clarified. "I didn't get blown up."

"I remember thinking he died in an explosion in a warehouse. He and his partner. I told you about that, remember?" Sam explained.

"Yeah…?" Dean prompted him to continue, still not quite getting the point.

"All I remember about you disappearing was a big explosion of Dick and then you and Cas were just gone," Sam said plainly.

"Wait, so you mean that 'Bobby' and his FBI partner were actually-" Dean finally felt the pieces coming together.

"You and Cas, yeah," Sam affirmed. "I guess names got mixed up along the way, but the information was all there. Everything about my new life, from my coffee preferences to my dog… It was all just pieces of you."

"I'm a dog to you?" Dean deadpanned.

"No, but I mean, you're kind of _like_ a dog." Sam said. Dean tried not to be insulted as Sam quickly rushed to explain, saying, "I mean, dogs are loyal and protective and they're good company… They're like the best kind of friend."

What Sam was saying finally started to ring true to Dean, because hadn't Sam said something like that the first day Dean had found him? Dean had indicated he thought the name choice of 'Dean' was odd for the dog, and Sam had shot down his judgment by saying something…

_Hey, don't poke fun at my best friend's name!_

Dean hadn't thought anything of the comment back then. Dogs were called 'man's best friend' all the time, right? But now Dean was seeing the layers to Sam's statement…

And when Dean had asked why that was the name he'd picked, what had Sam had said…?

_I don't know. It just felt right for him- Dean seemed like a respectable name. _

"You're not pulling my leg here," Dean concluded as he finally realized he had been wrong all along. Sam hadn't been cursed, but he hadn't wanted to forget him either. That much was now clear.

Still, a major question remained…

"What happened then? Why'd your eggs get all scrambled?" Dean asked.

"Kevin has a theory," Sam said, looking a little uncomfortable. "He told me while we were waiting for you to come out of surgery. There's this dissociative disorder people can get when they go through something traumatic. It's called 'Dissociative Fugue', and it basically causes the person's brain to build them a new identity out of pieces of their old life, and then run off to start over as that new person."

Immediately Dean was worried. Sam looked far too nervous about what he was saying, and instantly Dean had to ask, "Sam, what happened that was traumatic enough to make you lose your marbles?" He was imagining all sorts of horrors. Fights with leviathans that ended with Sam in unimaginable pain, or Crowley kidnapping and torturing Sam until he barely managed to escape…

Sam looked confused by the question. "Isn't that kind of obvious?" the taller man replied questioningly.

Dean paused and thought for a moment. He realized that all of the scenarios he was thinking up couldn't have happened, because Kevin had told him 'Robert Johnson' was created quite soon after Dean was stranded in Purgatory. Like right after the Dick incident. That wouldn't have left the Leviathans or Crowley time to torment Sam into mentally cracking. So that meant…

"You mean me and Cas going kablooey?" Dean inquired, eyebrows raised.

Sam looked both offended and saddened as he stated, "I'm getting the feeling you really don't think I care at all."

Dean quickly backpedaled because that wasn't actually the case. "No! That's not it, I- I just meant I'm confused why this time was so big. You didn't have a mental breakdown when I went to Hell, right? But you actually watched me die bloody that time. You've been through a lot of crap and there wasn't even a mess this time, so why now?"

Sam sighed and looked at the floor. "I didn't exactly handle you going to Hell all that great though, did I? Then after_ I_ went to Hell there was all that trouble with the wall in my head, and then seeing Lucifer all the time. I guess it makes sense that losing you and Bobby and Cas and Kevin…It would break me. I was never able to handle things like you do," Sam sounded so ashamed as he spoke that it genuinely hurt Dean to hear.

"Like _I _do?" Dean echoed. "You mean by drowning my major depression in alcoholism and reckless violence? Yeah, that sounds like a _much_ healthier way to go," he scoffed.

"No, but Dean-" Sam began what was surely going to be an attempt at explaining to Dean why he really _should_ feel bad about his reaction to the major losses he'd endured, but Dean was having none of it.

"No Sam," Dean cut him off. "Look, maybe you aren't the shining example of mental health, but God knows I'm not either! And ya know, I don't think we should be. We've been through _Hell_, both of us. We've lost damn near everyone we've ever cared about at least once. Sometimes more than that. We've been tortured and manipulated and pushed _way_ past our limits… I dare you to find me someone who could go through all that and come out the other side of it just peachy in the head." Dean made sure he held Sam's gaze as he added, "But you know what Sam? We keep going. Yeah, we break apart inside from time to time, but we put our pieces back together and _we keep going_. By the way, I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for your ability to pull yourself together when it really counts… So all-in-all I think you should be damn proud of yourself," Dean finished his impassioned spiel and waited for Sam to respond.

After a long moment of deep consideration, Sam replied at last, "I never thought about it like that, but I guess you could be right." He gave Dean a hesitant smile.

"You _guess_? Of course I'm right," Dean stated before adding lightly, "I'm the oldest."

"Careful there 'oldest'. You're still on crutches, and head-case or not I can totally take you right now," Sam taunted.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was just glad to hear Sam perking up. He wasn't lying to the guy. He really did think Sam should be proud of himself. After everything he'd been through, Sam was still standing- still fighting, even- and Dean knew that anyone around would be impressed by that.

"Ok, well I gotta get Dean's stuff loaded into the Impala," Sam finally said after a beat. "I'll let him out of his crate last and put his leash on him then."

Dean gave a long-suffering sigh. "You're determined we have to keep the mutt, huh?" he asked wearily.

Sam paused, eying Dean on his crutches, and Dean could practically hear the thoughts going through Sam's head. He knew the younger man was worrying that perhaps Dean wouldn't want to be around the animal anymore after all, especially after having just been attacked by another Hellhound.

"I…I don't want to just drop him at a shelter. But- I understand if you need- I mean I can try and find a non-kill place for us to take him to," Sam stammered, sounding painfully disheartened.

Dean pretended to consider that option for a second before saying, "No. I've heard dogs are good for mental therapy. You probably could use his company, what with all your loose screws…"

Sam smiled at the teasing, and it was clear he understood Dean was giving him permission to keep the animal he obviously loved.

"Can we at least change the name though?" Dean asked then, this time being sincere.

"Are you kidding? And give up my chance to watch you come running every time I call my dog? No way man," Sam insisted with a laugh.

Dean rolled his eyes at that and said, "Watch it Sammy. The dog doesn't bite, but I might snap at you."

Sam just grinned cheekily as he hefted the box of supplies towards his door. But then he paused, put the box down, and adopted a more serious expression as he walked back over to Dean.

Then in one swift motion, Sam pulled Dean into one of his patented little brother hugs, all the while being careful not to aggravate Dean's injuries.

"What's this for?" Dean asked, leaning into Sam as best he could while still unable to release hold of his crutches.

"Purgatory," Sam stated simply.

Dean was unable to stop himself from smiling slightly at that answer, and he was glad Sam couldn't see it from his angle.

After another moment Sam let his brother go, but he kept one hand on Dean's good shoulder as he said, "I get why you didn't want to talk about that place before, and I understand you're probably still not ready to," Sam paused, clearly trying to consider the best way to phrase something. Eventually he finished with, "But when you _are_ ready, I'm here to listen. And I swear I'm not going anywhere, ok?"

Dean smirked and said, "Dude, are you having PMS or something?"

Sam rolled his eyes and stooped down to pick up the box of dog supplies once more. "Jerk," he tossed over his shoulder as he carried the container towards the Impala.

"Bitch!" Dean called out the door after him cheerfully.

While Sam was loading the box into Baby's trunk, Dean took a moment to bask in the knowledge that somehow, after a year of Purgatory, two weeks of memory-less little brother, and a near-deadly confrontation with the King of Hell... Everything was finally ok.

Well, as 'ok' as things got for the Winchesters.

They had Kevin and the demon tablet to protect, a way to close Hell forever to work on, and probably a whole other mess of crap heading their way, because life seemed to hate leaving them in the calm for too long.

But at least they were together, as brothers, like they should be.

* * *

**Secondary Author's Note: So there you have it. Even when Sam's brain wanted to help him escape the pain of losing Dean, he couldn't actually let go of his brother. He still subconsciously built his whole new identity around him. (Kudos to rmttts, by the way, for having connected those dots early on.) ;) And now Dean finally knows the big truth- that Sam DOES care. Thanks for reading! ****Seriously, you all have been the best and I am so grateful for your support through my first real multichapter! :D If you have a moment, please do leave feedback. It's _almost_ better than brother hugs. lol ;) Thanks again everyone!  
**


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Supernatural, Family, Mystery