Seventeen: Forget Me Not
by Grkgrl88 and Irismay42
Diner, Sulphur, LA
the hell names a place Sulphur anyway?”
Dean demanded, glancing suspiciously over the rim of
his coffee cup at the bored-looking bottle-redheaded
waitress currently flirting her ample ass off at the
two burly cops hunched over the counter of Dora’s
Diner. “Surely that’s just asking for trouble?
You know – our kind of trouble?”
over-caffeinated gaze flitted skittishly to Sam, who
was currently dividing his time between the local morning
newspaper and the laptop, slice of toast poised halfway
between his plate and his mouth as something on the
computer screen suddenly seemed to demand his complete
attention. “Um-hmm,” he muttered distractedly,
eyes narrowing as he zeroed in on certain telling key
phrases within the article he was reading.
Dean drummed his fingers
on the heavily coffee-stained tabletop impatiently.
“I mean, not like Louisiana doesn’t have
enough of the old black magic vibe going for it already…”
Sam took a bite of his
toast, eyes never straying from the screen. “Mmm…”
“And hell, they
even spelt it wrong,” Dean added, figuring challenging
Sam to a spelling bee might at least get his little
brother’s attention. “Maybe this is where
illiterate demons come to score their brimstone fix.”
European spelling,” Sam muttered, just to prove
he was actually listening to at least some of the string
of non-sequiturs and inanities that had been spewing
out of Dean’s mouth all morning. Suddenly his
attention snapped to his older brother, whose wide eyes
were skittering around the room like two moths in a
closet full of flashlights. “How much coffee did
you drink so far this morning?” he demanded, grabbing
Dean’s raised cup and pushing it back down onto
the table with a wet thunk that sloshed dark liquid
all over the Formica.
gave Sam his most affronted scowl. “Not that it’s
any business of yours, Mom–”
“And did you eat
anything?” Sam continued shortly, gesturing at
Dean’s still-full plate of blueberry pancakes
with his half-eaten slice of toast. “Huh?”
melted from annoyance to discomfort, eyes cast down
toward the little tub of sugar packets now forming an
island at the center of his spilled coffee.
Sam sighed. “Dean,
you gotta eat something.”
“I’m not that
“Look, I know this
vacation kinda sucked a little bit –”
“What, with that
whole voodoo mojo let’s-drown-a-Winchester thing
going on?” Dean interjected. “Really, I
hadn’t noticed –”
Sam studied the dark circles
still lurking beneath his brother’s eyes, his
pale complexion making his freckles stand out almost
as harshly as they had in the summer when they were
kids. “That whole thing with the Alp,” he
said slowly. “Well, I know it must be hard to
get over something like that –”
“But if you don’t
“Mostly you just
Dean didn’t reply
Sam sighed again.
“I feel a lot better,
okay?” Dean managed finally, eyes once more averted
to the sugar packets. “Really. Believe it or not,
this vacation thing actually kinda helped –”
he met Sam’s disbelieving grin with a wry smile,
style,” Sam agreed. “Wouldn’t be complete
without a voodoo curse and some floating coffins.”
talking,” Dean concurred. “Who needs dancing
girls and coconut oil, huh?”
The bottle-red waitress
thrust the coffee pot between them, and Sam instinctively
shoved his hand over Dean’s cup. “No.”
snapped, smile turning to a rapid scowl.
Sam inclined his head
towards Dean’s plate. “Not unless you eat
scowl deepened. “Dude, I’m not four–”
Dean huffed, glanced up
at the waitress, who was looking at him like he was
maybe on day release from the nearest psych ward, before
spearing a wedge of pancake with his fork and shoving
it into his mouth sullenly.
Sam grinned brightly.
“Good boy,” he said, removing his hand from
Dean’s cup and motioning for the waitress to pour.
She shook her head and shrugged, pouring more coffee
before sashaying back toward the two cops at the counter.
Dean continued to scowl
at his brother as he reached stubbornly for his coffee
Sam wagged his finger as he grabbed Dean’s wrist.
“Show me,” he added in his best kindergarten
teacher voice. “I wouldn’t want to think
you were faking.”
Dean hissed through gritted teeth, “if you don’t
quit it you’re gonna be spending the rest of the
day wondering whether that girlie shampoo of yours can
get maple syrup out of you hair. I mean it man.”
When Sam continued to grip his wrist, smiling placidly
at him, he sighed theatrically before opening his mouth
as wide as he could get it, just to prove he’d
swallowed the pancake.
Sam sniggered, removing
his hand from Dean’s wrist and holding his palms
out in a gesture of surrender when Dean virtually growled
at him. “Ooh, little Deany’s grouchy when
he doesn’t get his nap.”
when his pain in the ass kid brother gets between him
and his coffee,” Dean amended, finally tipping
the scalding contents of the cup down his throat. “And
a little less of the ‘little,’ giraffe boy,”
Sam shook his head, grinning
widely as his attention drifted back to the laptop.
“On the plus side, I think I might have found
us a new gig.”
“As long as it’s
somewhere I’m not likely to drown,” Dean
muttered, spearing another piece of pancake and eating
it with more relish than he’d expected. Maybe
he was hungry after all…
“How does Phoenix
grab you?” Sam offered, grin widening.
level rose a notch. “I could do desert,”
he said, snatching a piece of toast from Sam’s
Pleased to see his brother
eating, Sam pretended not to have noticed, instead drawing
Dean’s attention to the front page of a local
Phoenix newspaper displayed on the laptop. “Couple
slaughtered in locked room mystery” ran the slightly
sensationalized headline. “Only daughter survives
“Locked room mystery?”
Dean echoed. “What the –?”
“Vincent and Flora
Medina,” Sam began to explain. “Unremarkable
middle-aged couple – he’s an accountant,
she’s a dental hygienist. Two weeks ago their
daughter Alyssa stops by on her way home from work –
finds them both butchered in their upstairs bedroom
– no signs of forced entry, all the doors and
windows locked, no fingerprints, fibers, DNA; no evidence
of any kind that anyone else was in the house.”
Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Yikes. Couldn’t have offed each other?”
eviscerated,” Sam informed him. “Not likely.”
knew this girl with PMS once –” Dean stopped
when he noted the expression on Sam’s face. “Alright,
Miss Politically Correct, what makes you think there’s
something –” he paused as the waitress passed
the table, “– our kind of something
Sam replied slowly, not meeting Dean’s inquisitive
Dean repeated. “That’s what tripped your
Sam seemed a little uncertain,
chewing on his bottom lip as one long finger toyed with
the laptop’s keyboard absently. “Medina,”
he said. “Like Ernest Medina, the commanding officer
of the soldiers responsible for the My Lai Massacre
in Vietnam in 1968.” Sam finally returned Dean’s
gaze. “The Medinas’ daughter is the same
age as I am.”
shifted in his seat. “You think maybe they’re
one of the cursed families?” he hazarded. “Like
Sam shrugged. “Maybe.
Maybe they’re related to Ernest Medina somehow.
Maybe Haris – well, maybe Haris is after their
daughter. Maybe she’s – maybe she’s
one of us.”
you mean –?”
“The psychic kids.
Like Max Miller or Matthew Ismay. Matthew Teller. Kyle.”
Dean took another sip
of his coffee thoughtfully. “That’s a lot
of ‘maybes,’ Sam,” he mused.
Sam nodded. “I know,”
he admitted. “It’s a stretch. But Alyssa
Medina could be in trouble. She might need our help.
What if Haris is after her?”
considered that for a second. “Damsel in distress.
Never could resist one of those.” He grinned lecherously.
Sam frowned at him before
shrugging. “Couldn’t find a picture,”
he admitted finally, before asking, “If she wasn’t,
would you still want to go save her?”
Dean considered that for
even longer. “Of course I would,” he said,
an expression of mock offence twisting his features.
“I’m a professional, Sammy.”
Sam agreed, signaling the waitress for the check. “Well
that’s one word for it…”
Medina house, Phoenix, AZ
“So this is it?”
Dean squinted up through the bright afternoon sun, eyes
quickly assessing the unremarkable two-story building
in front of him. Unremarkable. Just like its former
Sam checked the house
number on the mailbox at the end of the drive, noting
how the lawn was rebelling against its former perfectly-manicured
glory and the flowers in the baskets arranged around
the front door seemed to be wilting a little, as if
they hadn’t been watered in a while.
is it,” he confirmed, taking a couple of curious
steps up the driveway as Dean headed off across the
lawn, obviously looking for a way to get in around the
back of the house.
“You would have
thought the place would still be sealed off,”
Dean commented, checking one of the first floor windows
for locks and security sensors. “Unsolved double
murder and all.” He glanced sideways at Sam, who
was heading for the front door.
nodded his agreement as he navigated around a pristine
bright red Mini Cooper parked slightly askew in front
of a reasonably new Chevy that was covered in a thin
layer of dust. He smirked at the vehicle, inclining
his head in Dean’s direction. “New Impala,”
he remarked with a grin, knowing, as always, the very
best way to push his brother’s buttons.
Dean grunted derisively,
not even sparing the Chevy a glance. “Wash your
mouth out, Sam. That ain’t no Impala.”
Sam sniggered before marching
right up to the front door and knocking loudly.
jumped away from the window he’d been trying to
pry open, turning disbelieving eyes on his brother.
“What the hell are you –?”
Sam beamed at him triumphantly
as the sound of a lock being drawn back preceded the
door being pulled open to reveal a young woman scowling
at them from the hallway beyond.
“I already told
you leeches,” she hissed, preparing to slam the
door in Sam’s face, “you are not getting
in here to take any pictures for that so-called newspaper
Sam caught the door expertly
as the girl attempted to slam it shut, giving the inescapable
impression that he was more than used to having doors
slammed in his face.
reporters,” he told the girl, flashing his most
perfectly dimpled smile, and for a second Dean actually
thought he might puke all over his kid brother’s
The girl considered them
skeptically, twirling a long, curly lock of chestnut
brown hair around her finger, dark brown eyes brim full
of naked distrust. “So who are you?” she
demanded, holding off trying to slam the door again
until she at least had a little more information.
Sam lied smoothly. “With the Phoenix PD. We’ve
been asked to take a look at the Medina crime scene.”
The girl raked a still-skeptical
eye over Sam before turning her attention to Dean, who
was still standing slightly behind his brother. “Let
me see some ID,” she barked, putting out her hand
and clicking her fingers impatiently.
Dean raised an eyebrow
before producing an immaculately presented business
card and photo ID identifying him as Dean Ramone, Security
girl snatched the ID, checking it over carefully before
glancing at the equally perfect photocard being held
out to her by Sam. Her shoulders relaxed a little as
she returned the cards to Dean. “So what do you
guys consult about?” she asked, still showing
no signs of allowing them into the house any time soon.
Dean stepped forward, retrieving his beautifully faked
ID, looking the young girl right in the eye and affecting
the most serious tone of voice he could muster. “Breaking
and entering,” he told her shortly.
Sam made a little squeak
that he managed to cover by clearing his throat, and
the young woman just looked from one to the other of
them in disbelief.
“Breaking and entering?”
she echoed, hand moving to one jean-clad hip. “You’re
“I never kid about
my work, ma’am,” Dean said, still convincingly
serious. “We’re here to try and figure out
how the Medinas’ assailants could have gained
entry to their home.”
Sam glanced sideways at
his brother, almost convinced of Dean’s legitimacy
“And in that capacity,”
Dean continued authoritatively, “I have a couple
of questions. First, why isn’t this crime scene
sealed? And second, who the hell are you?”
The girl drew herself
up to her full height. “To answer your first question,”
she said with an equal amount of authority. “Hecked
if I know. They kept the – the room where it happened
sealed off, but released the house back to Alyssa a
couple of days ago.”
friend of their daughter?” Dean pressed.
The girl nodded. “Yes,
to answer your second question,” she confirmed.
“Maisie. Maisie Malone. Alyssa and I went to high
school together, then we both wound up at Arizona State.”
Alyssa now?” Sam asked casually.
Maisie looked at him for
a second. “Why would you need to know that?”
she asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.
Sam shrugged. “We
need to talk to her. We understand she found the –
found her parents, and we need to ask her about the
condition of the house when she got here.”
Maisie rolled her eyes
in exasperation. “She’s already been through
that a hundred times with real cops,” she pointed
remained completely unruffled. “Still, we might
have different questions.” He smiled disarmingly,
dimples coming into play. “It never hurts to get
an alternative point of view.”
Maisie sighed, finally
giving in. “She’s staying with her aunt
in New Mexico,” she admitted. “I’m
house-sitting for her – keeping all the scumbag
newshounds out of her garden.”
Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Kinda grizzly living at the scene of a double
murder, don’t you think?”
Maisie shrugged. “Hey,
I’m a grad student,” she told them. “Free
rent’s free rent, right?”
Dean tried his damndest
not to laugh, smoothing out his features as he inclined
his head in the direction of the hallway behind the
girl. “So,” he said, trying to regain Serious
Face. “You want us to stand out here all day or
are you going to let us in?”
Maisie considered them
for a second longer, frosty exterior finally seeming
to melt just a little bit. “All right,”
she said with an exaggerated sigh, opening the door
wider and motioning for them to come in. “If it’ll
help catch whoever killed Alyssa’s parents.”
She held the door as they moved towards her, shaking
her head and adding under her breath, “It’s
a good thing you guys are hot.”
Sam smiled awkwardly at
her as he passed, shuddering slightly at the sudden
dip in temperature as he crossed the threshold into
the house, Dean following with an amused grin plastered
to his face.
Glancing back once at
his brother, Sam moved toward the lounge which branched
off the hallway to the right, ostensibly checking the
locks on the big sash windows while Maisie’s eyes
were on him, and surreptitiously pulling his EMF meter
out of his jacket pocket when she turned back toward
Dean, who was looking toward the staircase at the far
end of the hall.
“I can take you
up if you want,” Maisie offered, following the
direction of the older brother’s gaze.
began, “that’d be –”
“You know, if you
need someone to hold your hand.”
Dean tried to ignore the
rather unsubtle snigger that emanated from the direction
of the lounge, instead treating Maisie to his most innocent
smile. “Aw, honey, sorry to disappoint, but I
haven’t done hand-holding since grade school,”
he told her. He grinned rakishly. “If you’ve
got anything a little more adventurous in mind, though,
I’d be more than happy to oblige.”
He kept his face purposely
neutral, and for a second Maisie just looked at him
before bursting into a wicked chortle. “Are you
sure you guys work for the cops?” she asked, turning
and beginning to make her way up the stairs.
Dean insisted, following the girl a little more closely
than was strictly necessary – or polite. “To
protect and to serve.”
not be checking out my ass,” Maisie warned him,
a definite wiggle to her hips as she continued to climb
Dean didn’t alter
the direction of his appreciative gaze for a millisecond.
“No ma’am,” he assured the girl. “I’m
a complete professional.”
Maisie snorted. “I’ll
just bet you are,” she commented, finally making
it to the landing at the top of the stairs.
“Good thing you’re
hot though,” Dean added, to which Maisie glanced
back at him with one raised eyebrow and he grinned flirtatiously.
way you guys work for the cops,” Maisie muttered,
taking the hallway off to her right, Dean following
her until she came to a dead stop at a doorway sealed
with garish yellow crime scene tape.
said, pointing, expression sobering considerably. “That’s
where – that’s where Alyssa found them.”
Dean nodded, approaching
the doorway and pulling out a pocketknife which he used
to carefully cut through the yellow tape. “She
was on her way home from work?” he asked, glancing
over his shoulder at Maisie, who nodded, folding her
arms across her chest as the temperature seemed to dip
“Her mom always
calls her when she’s on break, so when she didn’t
call that night, and didn’t answer Alyssa’s
calls either, she figured she’d swing by and check
everything was okay.”
“Which it wasn’t,”
Dean observed, carefully pushing open the door and taking
in the scene before him.
“No, it wasn’t,”
Maisie agreed, averting her eyes from the dimly-lit
Dean swallowed, for a
second vividly reminded of Meredith McDonell’s
apartment back in Chicago after the innocent waitress
had been eviscerated by Daevas just so that Haris could
get their attention.
He pushed down the horrible
thought that suddenly occurred to him amidst the sense
of horrific déjà vu, cautiously stepping
into the room and taking a deep breath as the coppery
smell of dried blood assaulted his nostrils.
The room was a mess, furniture
upended and ornaments broken, the carpet thick with
bloodstains and darkened by the Luminol applied by the
CSI team in what had amounted to a futile attempt to
reveal hidden footprints in the sticky liquid.
There was more dried blood
splattered liberally up the walls and all over the furniture,
and although the bed had been stripped of its bedclothes,
blood spatters covered the headboard and the base, and
also the nightstands on either side, one of which had
been pushed over and currently rested at a crazy angle
against the adjoining wall. The drapes had also been
removed from the windows, which were peppered with dark
red streaks and splatters, a coating of fingerprint
dust causing smoky sunlight to filter through the glass
onto an area of carpet thick and rigid with heavy bloodstaining.
she found her dad,” Maisie commented from the
doorway, not having crossed the threshold into the room.
“Her mom was on the bed.” She swallowed.
“Well, most of her was, anyway.”
Dean nodded, navigating
around an overturned table as he made for the nearest
window, dead flowers and a broken vase scattered at
his feet in the muted sunlight. “And they didn’t
find any DNA? Fingerprints?”
Maisie shook her head.
“Nothing,” she confirmed, as Dean’s
attention was drawn back to the wreckage surrounding
the upturned table.
A glint of silver caught
his eye, and he took a step closer, crouching to look
at a broken picture frame sticking up from behind one
of the larger pieces of the shattered vase.
He inclined his head to
one side, grimacing at the trail of blood smeared across
the broken glass which had fallen from the frame, the
photograph inside skewed slightly to one side. Three
smiling faces beamed up at him, and he immediately recognized
the man and the older woman as Vincent and Flora Medina
from their picture in the newspaper he’d seen
on Sam’s laptop.
further, he squinted at the dark-haired young woman
standing between the couple, a prickle of dread beginning
to creep up his spine as realization hit. “Wait
a second –” He began to turn, but was prevented
from saying anything more by a blinding white flash
that suddenly bleached all color from the room, scorching
his retinas and driving all thought and all sensation
from every corner of his brain.
knew nothing else as darkness claimed him.
* * *
There was nothing here.
No EMF. No residual signs
of a haunting. Nothing to indicate any supernatural
presence or phenomena of any kind.
And Sam was beginning
to wonder whether maybe humans had been responsible
for the brutal slaughter of Vincent and Flora Medina.
It was a horrible thought, but not unheard of.
He swept the kitchen one
last time with the EMF meter, preparing to report his
findings – or lack thereof – to Dean, who
was still upstairs at the crime scene, when a loud thud
reverberated through the ceiling above him and he instinctively
looked up, just as a piercing scream rent the chilly
air all around him.
first thought was “Dean,” and he was halfway
up the stairs before he’d even realized he’d
moved, taking the last three steps in one bound before
skidding down the hall toward Maisie, who was standing
in the doorway of the unsealed crime scene, shaking
hands drawn to her pasty face as she stared into the
room before her.
Sam quickly drew level with the girl, who continued
to stare into the bedroom, barely breathing. “Maisie,
– there was a bright light,” she mumbled,
clearly shaken. “And your partner –”
She pointed vaguely into the bedroom, and Sam followed
the direction of her trembling finger, stomach plummeting
when he saw Dean collapsed onto the bloodstained carpet,
hands raised in front of his eyes as if to protect his
shoved Maisie none-too-gently out of his way, diving
across the bloodied carpet and falling to his knees
next to his brother. “Dean! Dean!” Sam shook
Dean’s shoulder urgently, but was met with no
response, releasing a breath when he felt the strong
pulse at his brother’s neck, then moving on to
check him over for injuries: No holes, lumps or bruises.
What the hell…?
He glanced back at Maisie
who was chewing on her fingernails, clearly distraught,
hopping from foot to foot anxiously. “Is he okay?”
she asked frantically. “Should I call 911?”
“Maisie, what happened?”
Sam demanded, turning his attention back to Dean and
gently prizing open his eyelids, checking his pupils
for a reaction to the sudden influx of light.
Maisie faltered. “We were just talking. And then
– then there was this blinding flash of light
that – that I think came from the other side of
the window.” She gestured vaguely beyond Sam’s
shoulder, and he turned toward the dusty glass.
“I think so,”
Maisie confirmed. She shifted uncomfortably. “You
think this is what got Alyssa’s parents?”
Sam opened his mouth to
reply just as Dean suddenly began to moan, mumbling
incoherently under his breath. Sam leaned closer to
him, trying to make out what he was saying – odd,
disjointed words and phrases that Sam could only just
catch. “Too bright. Too hot. Fire. Where is she?
“I really think
I ought to call an ambulance,” Maisie began to
insist, fishing her cell phone from her jeans pocket
and sliding it open.
held up a hand, tone softening slightly at the frightened
look on Maisie’s face. “It’s okay.
I’ll get him to the hospital myself.”
Maisie raised an eyebrow.
“But he’s unconscious,” she pointed
out. “And he looks kinda heavy.”
There was no denying the
truth of either of Maisie’s observations, but
something about this just didn’t feel right to
Sam. He needed more information before he was prepared
to trust Dean to the care of strangers.
He looked to his brother,
whose eyes were moving rapidly beneath his tightly-closed
eyelids, odd words still mumbled in a barely audible
stream of randomness. “I got him, Dad. I got the
baby. It’s okay, Sammy…”
swallowed. “Can you help me get him to our car?”
he asked gently, and Maisie nodded, instantly at Sam’s
side as he struggled to get one arm beneath Dean’s
shoulder and haul him to his feet.
Maisie positioned herself
on the opposite side of the unconscious Winchester,
wrapping an arm about his waist as Sam tried to take
the majority of his weight.
mumbled. “Something’s burning…”
with him?” Maisie asked, as Sam began to maneuver
his brother toward the door.
Sam would have shrugged
if he’d been able. “I don’t know,”
he admitted. “I just need to get him out of here.”
With Maisie’s help,
Sam somehow managed to half-drag, half-carry his unconscious
brother from the house, struggling a little at the threshold,
but eventually able to get him out to the waiting Impala,
where he gently laid him on the back seat before turning
back to the ashen-faced girl behind him.
car?” Maisie asked, as if trying to distract herself
from what had just happened in front of her. “Not
the usual PD-issue.”
Sam smiled weakly. “My
brother’s pride and joy,” he muttered, indicating
Dean with a jerk of his thumb.
brother?” Maisie asked. “Wow, I’m
so sorry. I wish I knew – I wish I could help.”
She chewed on her lip. “I mean, do you think –
do you think that whatever did this to Alyssa’s
parents is the same thing that did this to your brother?”
frowned slightly, head tipped slightly to one side.
“‘Whatever?’” he echoed
uncertainly. “Don’t you mean whoever?”
Maisie laughed nervously,
covering her face in embarrassment. “I’m
sorry,” she said, voice incongruously high-pitched
and almost giggly. “I’m studying local legends
and urban folklore and sometimes – well sometimes
I just get carried away.”
Sam’s frown deepened.
“You know of any local legends that could explain
what happened to the Medinas – to my brother?”
he asked hesitantly.
Maisie seemed somewhat
taken aback at the question. “N-no,” she
admitted. “Not really. It’s just –”
she sighed. “Sometimes it’s easier to believe
in monsters than to believe a person could do something
like this to another person.”
Sam nodded, reluctant
to admit he’d had the same thought. “Will
you be okay?” he asked eventually, opening the
driver’s door with a creak. “In there I
mean.” He indicated the Medina house, and Maisie
glanced back over her shoulder up the driveway.
stay with friends tonight,” she conceded, once
more meeting Sam’s concerned gaze. “Don’t
want to push my luck too far in one day.”
Sam agreed silently, pulling
a battered card from his pocket and quickly writing
down his cell phone number on it. “Listen,”
he said, holding the card out for Maisie to take. “If
you think of anything – or if – if you just
need to talk, call me, okay?”
nodded. “Thanks,” she said, taking the card
awkwardly. “I will.”
Sam smiled briefly, before
making to slide into the Impala.
added, causing Sam to pop his head back out over the
roof of the car. “I hope your brother’s
gonna be okay.”
Sam nodded, swallowing.
“Me too,” he agreed, again smiling just
a fraction before getting into the car and starting
the powerful engine.
Maisie took one last look
at the little card in her hand as the big Chevy pulled
away from the curb and rumbled out of sight down the
Rest Stop Motel,
Sam stood in the bathroom
doorway of the tiny motel room, watching his brother
as he lay on one of the uncomfortable-looking beds,
tossing and turning as if in the throes of some terrible
Dean still hadn’t
regained consciousness, and it had been almost three
hours since Sam had gotten him back here from the Medina
house, dropped him onto the bed and begun this long,
nerve-wracking vigil. He’d pulled off his brother’s
jacket and boots and placed a cool washcloth on his
forehead. But there was little else he could do but
wait; wait and wonder and worry that his brother might
never wake up.
His fingers felt the solid
shape of his cell phone through the denim of his jeans,
and for the sixtieth time in the last hour he wondered
whether he ought to follow Maisie’s advice and
But it just didn’t
seem right. He couldn’t abandon Dean to strangers,
to faceless people in white coats who would shake their
heads sympathetically but ultimately have no clue what
to do for his brother.
Because this wasn’t
some sudden-onset illness that had befallen Dean. Sam
was sure of that. No. This was something else. Something
a doctor wouldn’t have any idea how to deal with.
a fire,” Dean mumbled, and Sam moved over to him,
bending down and repositioning the washcloth on his
forehead before settling himself on the edge of the
bed and trying to resist the urge to grab Dean’s
He would never hear the
end of it if his big brother woke up to find Sam hanging
on to him like he used to when he was four.
Dean,” he said soothingly. “It’s okay,
you’re okay, you’re safe.”
burning. He’s burning her.”
Sam blinked. “Dean?”
Sam stopped dead, hand
still hovering over the washcloth. “Dean?”
He paused, barely daring to breathe, barely daring to
hear what else would slip from Dean’s mouth when
he had no control over his memories. He sat forward
slightly, edged closer, could almost feel the heat radiating
from his brother’s fevered brow…
Sam jumped to his feet
with a start as Dean’s eyes suddenly snapped open
and he sat bolt upright on the bed like a jack-in-the-box
whose spring had been coiled too tightly.
Dean blinked at him, looking
at him, looking about him, blinking furiously, clearly
disoriented and uncertain where he was. “What
–” he muttered, voice scratchy and rough
with unsettled sleep. “Where am I?” He grabbed
at the comforter atop the bed, hands curled into tight
fists as he scrambled back against the headboard, chest
heaving with panicked breaths.
Sam again fought the urge to grab Dean’s hand.
“It’s okay.” He held up his hands,
hoping he sounded reassuring. “You collapsed.
I brought you back to the motel. Everything’s
Dean continued to stare
at him as if not quite seeing him, eyes huge and blinking
continuously, breaths coming quick and ragged.
“Just breathe. It’s
okay. You were – you were dreaming.”
Dean met his gaze uncertainly.
“There was a woman,” he said slowly, breathing
gradually beginning to even out a little. “Something
was burning.” His eyes locked with Sam’s
for a second before he looked away again skittishly.
“Someone was burning. There – there was
a woman in a white nightdress. And… And there
was a man. And a baby.” He looked up at Sam again.
“I had to save the baby.”
Sam gulped down air like
it was going out of fashion. Dean didn’t talk
about this stuff. Not ever. “It’s okay,”
he repeated hollowly, although he knew deep down inside
of him that it was no such thing. “It’s
okay. The fire. You were dreaming about the fire. About
just looked at him. “What fire?” he asked.
The shadow of a concerned
frown ghosted across Sam’s face. “The fire,”
he said slowly. “The one that took Mom…”
Dean’s mouth opened
and closed soundlessly. “It’s – I
don’t…” He trailed off, examining
Sam’s face closely and squinting as if into a
“Why do you keep
calling me that?”
Sam’s frown twisted
still deeper. “Dean –”
shook his head, eyes beginning to dart around the room
frantically. “I don’t – where the
hell am I?”
Sam reached out to place
a calming hand on Dean’s shoulder, but his brother
shook it off, pulling away suddenly and scrunching himself
back against the headboard as if he was truly afraid
of Sam’s touch.
“Get away from me!”
me!” Dean insisted, shooting Sam a warning scowl
of such feral intensity that the younger brother actually
retreat a stunned step. “I mean it.”
“Dean, take it easy
–” Sam reached out again, causing Dean to
scramble further backwards, almost falling off the opposite
side of the bed in his haste to get to his feet.
away!” Dean repeated, forehead crumpling into
a confused frown as he backed up against the far wall,
warily keeping the bed between himself and his brother,
one hand held out in front of him as if that would keep
Sam away. “Don’t – I don’t –”
He shook his head, swallowing hard as his eyes darted
to the motel room door, and Sam actually began to wonder
whether his brother was going to try and make a run
for it. Then, all of a sudden, Dean’s eyes locked
with Sam’s again, his shoulders squaring as he
raised himself up to his full height and set his jaw
defiantly before demanding, “Who the hell are
Sam stepped back as if
slapped, grabbing hold of the footboard of his own bed
to steady himself, the world tilting precariously, as
if someone had just pulled a rug right out from under
his feet. “Dean – I – what do you…?”
shook his head, pressing his palms into his eyes before
suddenly pulling both hands away and staring at them
as if he’d never seen them before.
he looked back up into Sam’s concerned blue-green
eyes, a terrified look of desperation stealing the color
from his face. He took a breath, exhaled slowly, before
finally asking, “Who the hell am I?”
the episode here