Season Two

Episode Seventeen: Forget Me Not

by Irismay42

Story by Grkgrl88 and Irismay42

Part Four

Sam’s fists slammed into the glass door, his feet pounding on concrete as he abruptly exited the coolness of the library and emerged into the full glare of Phoenix’s merciless sun.

He blinked in the bright sunlight, slightly disoriented by the sudden change in brightness and temperature, his cell phone still pressed to his ear to an almost painful degree as he continued to scream, “Dean! Stay in the car! Don’t let her near you!” over and over with no hint of a response from his brother.

Eyes frantically scanning the parking spaces in front the library, unable to get his brain to remember where the hell he’d left the Impala in his panicked state, his eyes suddenly lit upon the big black Chevy parked on the opposite side of the street, exactly where he’d left it.

“Dean…!”

Sam wasn’t sure whether to yell into the phone or across the street to where he could clearly see his brother standing with one foot out of the Impala, leaning casually on the open door, his cell phone nowhere in sight as he grinned suggestively at the shapely brunette approaching him on the sidewalk, like a tiger stalking her unwitting prey.

Maisie – no, Alyssa – was barely six feet away from him.

Sam’s heart almost stopped beating right there as he caught the flirtatious timbre of his brother’s voice, even though he couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, the approaching girl smiling coyly in response to whatever line Dean had used on her.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, tearing straight into the road without a single thought for traffic as Alyssa reached out and began to close the narrowing gap between herself and his brother. “Dean, don’t let her touch you!”

A squeal of brakes and a furiously honked horn had Sam stopping in his tracks inches from the front bumper of a shiny silver Chrysler PT Cruiser, and Dean finally turning in his brother’s direction, equal amounts of confusion and concern etched onto his face.

“Sam…?”

Something altered ever-so-slightly in Alyssa’s eyes, her expression twitching at the sight of the younger Winchester, hand reaching for Dean’s arm even as Sam charged toward them, narrowly avoiding several more exasperated motorists as he weaved between the inexorably moving lines of traffic.

“Dean, get away from her!” Sam fairly screamed, reaching behind him to grab his concealed 9mm even as Alyssa’s fingers grazed the fabric of Dean’s shirt sleeve.

Covering the last few feet to his brother’s side at a flat out sprint, Sam brought the gun up to shoulder height whilst still running, aiming it right between Alyssa’s eyes and fairly growling, “Get away from him you bitch!”

Alyssa’s face smoothed consciously from a grimace to a triumphant leer as she made to clasp her hand around Dean’s wrist, but her moment of glory was snatched away from her as Sam skidded to a stop between them, grabbing his brother’s arm and yanking him right out of the Impala and almost completely off his feet as he tugged him backwards, shoved him roughly behind him and raised himself up to his full more-than-imposing height in front of Alyssa, the Glock still pointed right between her eyes.

“Sam, what the hell…?” Dean began to protest, but was silenced by Sam’s thrusting the gun even closer to Alyssa’s forehead and quite literally baring his teeth at her.

“You touch my brother again and I’ll drop you so fast you’ll be on the express elevator to hell before your brain even finishes splattering across the sidewalk,” Sam promised, the 9mm rock steady in his right hand as he tightened his grip on Dean’s upper arm with his left.

“Jeez, no need to go all Ripley on me, Sam,” Alyssa said, hands raised in apparent surrender as her eyes flooded with calculated mock innocence. “What the hell did I do to get you so riled up anyway?”

She took a half-step toward him, but Sam merely pressed the muzzle of the handgun right up against her forehead.

“I swear to God, you take one step closer to him and I’ll end you.”

And Sam meant it. Alyssa had little doubt about that.

The girl smiled sweetly, artfully turning a helplessly pleading glance in the direction of the growing number of alarmed-looking passersby, a couple of whom, although they carried on walking, heads down, eyes to the sidewalk, at least pulled out their cell phones, presumably to dial 911.

Sam’s attention never even wavered, the Glock still steady in his hand as Alyssa, satisfied someone was at least calling the cops, turned a sickly sweet smile in his direction.

“Sam…?” Dean spoke the name as a question, frozen by the icy determination of Sam’s protective stance.

“Did you kill them?” Sam demanded suddenly, eyes boring right into Alyssa’s. “Your own parents? Huh? Alyssa?”

The girl’s smile faltered ever-so-slightly.

“Alyssa?” Dean echoed. “She’s Alyssa?”

“Sam, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The girl was all innocent confusion, hands still raised helplessly as she glanced again to the various shocked passersby for help. “I’m not Alyssa! I told you! I’m Maisie!”

There was a spark in her eyes that totally ruined her feigned sincerity gig, and Sam merely ground out, “I saw your picture. In your high school yearbook? You’re not Maisie Malone, you’re Alyssa Medina.”

The girl giggled nervously, Sam suspected for the benefit of the bystanders dialing the cops on anxiously-held cell phones, as she already knew Sam could see straight through her. “Oh that!” she burst out, for all the world sounding as casual as she would discussing her new manicure with her girlfriends. “That was a joke! Alyssa and I were on the yearbook committee – we switched photographs just to see whether anyone would notice!”

“Miss?” One of the cell phone heroes had mustered up the courage to take a hesitant step toward her, holding up the handset as if it might magically protect him should Sam decide to aim any bullets in his direction. “Do – do you need help?” He chanced a quick glance at Sam, squaring his shoulders slightly. “I already called the cops.”

Alyssa didn’t even look at the man, eyes still fixed intently on Sam’s. “It’s okay,” she assured him calmly. “It’s all a big misunderstanding. Right Sam?”

Sam took a breath, finally breaking away from his intense staring match with Alyssa to sweep his gaze around the growing number of concerned onlookers, many of whom had now stopped and appeared to be moving to stand behind the guy with the cell phone.

“All a misunderstanding,” Alyssa – Maisie? – repeated soothingly.

The Glock dropped a couple of inches as Sam began to realize the magnitude of the situation he’d fallen into here. What if it really was all a misunderstanding? What if she really was Maisie? He heard distant sirens and swallowed hard, moving to put the safety back on the 9mm just as Dean suddenly burst out,

“You were in the picture.”

Alyssa blinked at him, and Sam inclined his head slightly. “What picture?”

“There was a picture – a photograph,” Dean began to explain, voice trembling slightly. “Before the – the flash of light.” He smoothed his palm over his hair, thinking hard, trying, willing himself to remember.

“Before?” Sam repeated.

Dean nodded. “The dead couple. The Medinas. They were in the picture. With – with –” he jerked his head at the girl opposite. “With her. That’s the last thing I remember: thinking she wasn’t who she said she was. Thinking she was Alyssa–”

The sound of sarcastic applause drew the brothers’ attention back to the brunette in front of them, who was smirking derisively. “Well done, boys!” she said. “Score one to the Winchesters!”

Sam twitched his neck. “You knew who we were all along didn’t you?” he accused her. “This was a set up from the start.”

Alyssa shrugged dismissively. “Had to get you boys here somehow.”

“By killing you parents?”

“Hey, I knew you two would never be able to resist a locked room mystery with a supernatural twist to keep you occupied.”

Sam shook his head in disgusted disbelief. “That’s why you killed your own parents?” he reiterated. “Just to lure us here?”

“Seemed the easiest way,” Alyssa explained casually. “And I’m all for easy. They were expendable. Your old friend Haris? He’s my father now.”

Sam felt his knees weaken at the girl’s casual reference to the demon; at her casual acceptance of him as her master; at her casual slaughter of her own parents as bait. Just to get the Winchesters to Phoenix. “What does he want?” he demanded, trying to collect his thoughts, trying not to sound as completely freaked out as he felt. “What does he want with Dean? Why destroy his memory?”

Alyssa laughed coldly. “You think this is the part where I pull off my mask and divulge to you my evil plan? And I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids…” She snorted. “This ain’t Scooby-Doo, Sam. All I know is I had a job to do. And I’m going to finish it.” She looked pointedly at Dean. “I got my orders, just like you boys.”

Sam grimaced, his abhorrence of Alyssa’s thoughtless actions for a second clouding his judgment. Was this Haris’ plan? For all of his “special” children? To turn them into murderous, unfeeling monsters?

Was this his plan for Sam?

“You’re coming with us,” he said decisively, lowering the gun and making a grab for Alyssa’s arm.

But the girl was fast.

Before Sam quite knew what had happened, she had somehow sidestepped him and was making a lunge for Dean, long fingers grabbing for his arm just as Sam regained his senses, merely shoving his brother out of the way before again placing himself firmly between the two of them, gun again aimed at Alyssa’s head.

“Don’t make me do this,” he warned her, unprepared for the sudden malicious grin she turned up toward him as her hand clamped down hard on his forearm.

“Say goodnight, Sam,” she hissed, as Sam staggered back slightly, steeling himself for the inevitable flash of light and unconscious oblivion. “You should have given in to him. You should have let him have his wicked way.” Her fingers tightened on his arm and her eyes flashed pure malevolence; hatred; death. “Now neither of you will live to regret it!”

She closed her eyes, fingers digging into Sam’s flesh, and for a moment, he found himself almost relieved. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how he was supposed to go out, protecting his brother…

But nothing happened.

Alyssa opened her eyes, her initial frown of confusion rapidly hardening into a scowl of outrage.

And Sam found himself laughing.

“What’s the matter, hon?” he asked, grabbing hold of Alyssa’s arms and pulling her toward him. “Performance anxiety? Battery needs a recharge?” He lowered his face so that their eyes were level. “Or maybe it just doesn’t work on another of Haris’ freaks, huh?”

“No,” Alyssa hissed through gritted teeth. “This can’t be! You can’t be –!”

“Save it for Daddy, sweetheart,” Sam spat, sounding unnervingly like Dean at that moment. “’Cause it looks like maybe he made us immune to one another.”

For a second the two of them just scowled at each other, until Sam finally realized he could now use his size advantage and began trying to tug the girl toward the Impala.

Which was when Alyssa started screaming.

“Help! Someone help me!”

In the distance, Sam heard sirens and squealing tires, just as Alyssa’s theatrical screams of abject terror rapidly changed to desperate cries for assistance and protection as she played to the crowd like a pro.

“Oh God! Someone please help me! He’s got a gun! He’s going to kill me!”

Glancing over his shoulder as a blue and white rounded the corner, lights flashing and tires screeching, Sam abruptly let go of Alyssa, stuffing the Glock into his front waistband in the hope his shirt would conceal it from the cops as the patrol car skidded to a halt several feet away.

Taking a firm hold on Dean’s arm, he began shoving him roughly toward the Impala, urgently hissing, “We gotta go! Now!” into his brother’s ear as he bundled him into the car.

“Dude!” Dean protested, almost falling into the passenger seat. “Enough with the manhandling! Why don’t we just tell the cops what happened? She’s a murderer!”

Sam glanced briefly at the two tank-sized police officers currently disembarking their vehicle as if they had all the time in the world, before slamming the Impala’s passenger door and sprinting around to the driver’s side, virtually throwing himself behind the wheel and tugging his own door shut with a resounding clang that almost drowned out the cops’ cries of “Stop right there!” and the obligatory “Freeze!”

“Because you’re kinda wanted for murder yourself, Dean,” Sam finally replied to Dean’s question, gunning the engine and throwing the Impala into reverse before hastily slamming his foot against the accelerator.

Dean blinked at him, a slow grin breaking out on his face. “No way! Cool!” he burst out, bracing himself against the dashboard as the Impala’s tires protested Sam’s sudden shift into drive, squealing as they left most of their rubber behind on the pavement when Sam hit the gas and took off down the street like the proverbial bat out of hell.

“Please don’t follow us,” Sam muttered a silent prayer through clenched teeth, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as the cops scrambled back to their vehicle, obviously having decided that discharging their weapons in the middle of a crowded street might not win them too many friends back at the station house.

Sam swerved around a sudden corner before the lumbering police officers had even gotten back into their car, speeding down a side street and praying he could find somewhere big enough to hide a rather conspicuous jet black 1967 Chevrolet Impala in the middle of downtown Phoenix.

“There!” Dean burst out suddenly, pointing to an underground parking garage not far ahead of them.

Sam followed Dean’s direction gratefully, breathing an unconsciously-held sigh of relief as he skidded the big car slightly in his efforts to hide it as quickly as possible.

He took the car down three floors before finally daring to park, the sudden silence as he killed the engine almost deafening.

“Hear any sirens?” he asked nervously.

Dean shook his head before clarifying, “So I’m a wanted murdered and you’re – what? A part-time Nascar driver?”

“You didn’t kill anyone Dean,” Sam assured him. “It was a shapeshifter who just looked like you.”

Dean nodded calmly. “Of course it was,” he commented with a dismissive shrug. “Why would I think anything different?”

“And if it helps any, you’re also legally dead.”

Dean just looked at him. “I’m starting to get the impression we’re not exactly normal, Sam.”

“That would be a pretty fair assessment,” Sam confirmed, nodding slowly.

“Anything else you’d like to share? Maybe you were Marilyn Monroe in a former life?”

Sam snorted. “Not that I know of. White never was my color.”

Dean shook his head, for a moment wondering when he was going to wake up and this would all turn out to be an incredibly vivid nightmare.

“Crap!” Sam suddenly spat, causing Dean to jump a couple of inches off the bench seat.

“What?”

“I gotta go back to the library.”

Dean’s eyebrows almost shot off his head. “You what?”

“I left my computer. And all my notes. And –” Sam faltered, patting down his pockets as the color drained from his face. “My wallet and ID.”

Dean shook his head. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?”

“And I thought you were about to be brain-fried again.”

They both sighed simultaneously, neither one looking at the other until Dean finally said, “I’ll go.”

Sam turned stunned eyes onto him. “What? No way!”

“Dude, I get that you’re trying to look out for me –”

“I’m just trying to protect you, Dean –”

“Oh really, ’cause I hadn’t noticed the way you kept shoving me out of the way like a little girl while you got all Rambo in Alyssa’s face.”

Sam sunk into his seat, arms across his chest sullenly. “Yeah, well I learned from the best,” he muttered.

“Look,” Dean continued. “You’re the girlie-haired giant with the big gun the cops are gonna be looking for. You stay here with this oh-so-inconspicuous ride of yours –”

“Yours. She’s your car.”

“Whatever,” Dean said dismissively. “I’ll go back to the library, grab your stuff and be back here in twenty minutes.”

“What if someone recognizes you?”

“Dude, I’ll blend into the crowd.”

“You’re kidding right?”

“I can blend!”

“Dean, in case you haven’t noticed you’re about as inconspicuous as your car,” Sam told him. “One thing you do not do is blend into a crowd.”

“But I’m not six foot nineteen and don’t look like I could leap tall buildings in a single bound,” Dean returned. “Although I’d seriously have to kick your ass if you started wearing your underwear on the outside.” He frowned slightly. “You don’t, do you? Huh, Clark?”

“If I’m Clark Kent then you’re Lois Lane,” Sam groused, although a tiny glimmer of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Now go get my laptop already.”

* * * *

So. This could be a good thing, Dean told himself, edging around the corner of the street and scanning the activity around the library. No cop cars. No crowd of interested onlookers. No patrol officers canvassing for witnesses.

Huh.

A little street drama and life goes on.

Keeping a wary eye out for enthusiastic cops – or, more importantly, Alyssa – Dean crossed the street as nonchalantly as he was able, considering he’d just been involved in what may, to the casual observer, have looked like an attempted kidnapping, entering the library and gazing up at about three million different signs all pointing him in three million different directions.

How the hell was he supposed to find the freakin’ Arizona Room in amongst all that information overload?

“Excuse me?”

The pretty redhead behind the information desk looked up, welcoming smile broadening considerably when she beheld the person addressing her.

“Oh hi. Can I help you?” She straightened her black-framed glasses and unconsciously tugged at the hem of her shirt.

“Er, yeah,” Dean replied, wondering whether he always had this effect on women. “Arizona Room?”

The girl pointed up the nearby flight of stairs with a pencil she’d magically plucked from the back of her hair. “Second floor,” she informed him, smiling a little more at him.

Okay. Obviously this strange power he apparently had over women might come in useful.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing the million dollar smile, before adding casually, “So, what was going on outside earlier? Some guy with a gun…?”

“Oh,” the girl drew in a breath, wilting slightly. “It was all some big hoax apparently.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “A hoax?”

“Yeah. I heard it was a group of kids from the university. Some kind of sociology experiment.”

“With cops involved?”

“Yeah, apparently this guy pretended to threaten a girl with a fake gun in the middle of a crowded street just to see whether anyone would help her or whether they’d all just walk on by –”

“My boyfriend called the cops,” a blonde girl standing further down the desk browsing the floor guide on the wall suddenly put in proudly. “The girl told him she’d include his name in their paper.”

“Oh she did, huh?” Dean said. “The girl who had the gun pointed at her?”

The girlfriend nodded. “She told the cops the same thing.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean raised an eyebrow. “And what did the cops say?”

The girlfriend looked slightly crestfallen. “I think they arrested her. Wasting police time or something.”

Dean tried to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Really?”

Girlfriend nodded. “Uh-huh,” she confirmed. “Can’t believe her classmate just drove off and left her –”

“I heard there were two of them,” the library girl interjected. “Boys, I mean. One lady who came in here said they were kinda hot –” She giggled a little, and Girlfriend nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah!” she agreed excitedly, stepping a little closer to Library Girl. “Although I only really saw the tall one. He was dreamy! Didn’t really see the short one.”

Dean bit back the instinct to yell, “Hey, I’m six foot and freakin’ change, lady!”, instead opting to take the opportunity of escaping the conversation while Girlfriend was still expanding on the really tall guy’s gorgeous eyes.

Eesh.

Even when Sam was waving a gun around at seemingly innocent young ladies he could attract the chicks.

Maybe it was the “bad boy” thing, Dean mused. Although, even with his admittedly almost non-existent memory of his kid brother, he was pretty sure Sam couldn’t really be described as a “bad boy.” Even holding a 9mm pointed at the head of a memory-stealing bitch like Alyssa.

Slipping away and up the stairs, it didn’t take him long to locate the Arizona Room, Sam’s computer, bag, notes and jacket all, miraculously, exactly where he’d described leaving them.

Either the residents of Phoenix were an incredibly scrupulous bunch or Sam had just been very, very lucky.

Scooping Sam’s stuff into the laptop bag, he paused at the sight of Alyssa’s face smiling up at him from the still-open yearbook, shuddering slightly as that half-memory of the shattered picture frame on the Medinas’ floor swam slowly into focus behind his eyes.

“Wait a second,” he’d said, turning to confront the girl he’d thought was Maisie Malone with the fact that she was in a photograph with the Medinas, just as a bright light sapped every thought in his head and he’d woken up not knowing who he was.

Goddamn. He should have learned his lesson never to trust hot chicks.

But she’d pay. He’d make her pay.

And he’d make her fix him.

Somehow…

Rest Stop Motel, Phoenix, AZ

“So Alyssa got arrested?” Sam didn’t even attempt to smother an evil snicker. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.”

Dean silently nodded his agreement, leaning back against his headboard and closing his eyes as if he was going to sleep. But instead he asked, “But why? Why didn’t she turn us in? Why make up that whole ‘school experiment’ story?”

Sam looked across from the table where he was going over the notes he’d made at the library. “Beats me,” he said, trying to resist the urge to approach Dean’s bed and check for the hundredth time that day that he was okay, the little scowl of frustrated concentration twisting his brother’s face creating a knot of concern in the pit of Sam’s stomach.

Dean was trying to remember something.

Anything.

“Maybe she’s not done with us,” Dean said calmly, eyes still closed, oblivious to Sam’s sudden urge to mother hen him. “You heard what she said: she’s not finished the job yet.”

“Whatever her ‘job’ might be.”

Sam continued to watch his brother in silence, the older boy’s foot unconsciously beginning to tap out a distinct rhythm against the bed.

Sam frowned. “Dean?”

Dean didn’t seem to hear him, foot still tapping against the mattress.

“Dean?” Sam repeated a little louder, and his brother’s rhythmic movement stilled abruptly.

“Huh?” Dean’s eyes snapped open, and for a second Sam wasn’t entirely sure he was seeing the motel room at all. He blinked a couple of times, his eyes gradually becoming clearer, more focused. Focused on Sam. “You okay?” he asked suddenly, and Sam nearly laughed at that, at the Dean-ness of the question.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, forcing back a grin. “Just plowing through the notes I took at the library.”

Dean folded his hands behind his head and gazed up at the moldy ceiling. “Find anything interesting?”

Sam shrugged. “Not really. I couldn’t find anything to prove the Medinas actually were related to the Captain involved in the My Lai Massacre. But then, I couldn’t find anything to prove they weren’t either. I guess just because Alyssa’s one of Haris’ ‘kids’ it doesn’t necessarily follow that she has to come from one of the cursed families, right?”

“You’re asking me?” Dean’s focus drifted back to Sam. “Mr. I Can’t Even Remember My Own Brother?”

Sam smiled sadly to himself. “Yeah, okay.”

“But if I had to guess,” Dean continued, settling back to examine a particularly fascinating patch of greenish-brown mold as if the ceiling were one big Rorschach Test, “I’d think it’s a safe bet the Medinas were pretty damned cursed. They got themselves pounded into hamburger meat by their loving daughter, after all.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, absently twirling a pencil around his fingers. “They’re certainly unlucky at the very least. That whole ‘sins of the fathers’ thing would definitely explain them dying the way they did –”

Dean sat up suddenly, all traces of sleepiness or distance gone from his wide eyes. “Sins of the fathers,” he repeated intensely. “Someone said that to me –”

“I know, you said earlier –” Sam broke off as Dean suddenly started humming that same freaky lullaby tune, foot tapping out the rhythm against the bed as it had earlier, forehead lined in concentration. “Dean?”

Then there were words. Distinct. Complete.

Remembered.

Sweet dreams, my love, you’ve naught to fear,
I'll see you again as the sun appears.
But the moon's alight, and it's time for bed,
Pull the blanket close and lay down your head.

A cowboy rides into the night,
In lasting struggle to end his plight.
Charm ’round his neck is safety's hand,
Shielding him from Evil's plans

Sweet dreams, my love, good night to you,
And hope aplenty but nightmares few.
Remember now as you close your eyes,
Trust your heart, for it never lies.

When he’d finished, Dean ducked his head sheepishly, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck even as his cheeks colored an unsubtle shade of crimson.

For a frozen second, Sam just stared at him, time spinning out between them until he finally managed to croak out, “You remembered,” barely keeping the astonished awe from his voice.

“I told you,” Dean said, voice subdued, studiously not looking up, as if the pattern on the carpet was suddenly as interesting as the mold on the ceiling. “Mom used to sing it to me. At night when she put me to bed. Said her – her Gramma Eliza used to sing it to her when she was little.”

Sam, still kind of stunned by Dean’s even remembering the lullaby, never mind his actually singing it, mumbled, “What – what made you remember –?”

“Sins of the fathers,” Dean explained, suddenly looking up at Sam with piercing clarity sparkling in his hazel eyes. “Claviger. It was Claviger who said that to me before!”

“Claviger?” Sam repeated. “Emmanuel Claviger? The spook who tried to kill you back in Redemption? The –” he stopped suddenly, and the brothers’ eyes locked.

“Cowboy,” they said in unison.

Dean scooted forward on the bed excitedly, until he was perched right on the edge, leaning forward as he held Sam’s confounded gaze. “Sam, he had an amulet like this one!” He looped a finger through the leather necklace. “The ‘charm ’round his neck’? Dude! He’s the guy in the lullaby! He’s the cowboy Mom used to sing to me about!”

“But – but how is that even possible?” Sam stammered, still reeling from Dean’s remembering the lullaby now, when he couldn’t even remember his own name, to fully process how the hell he was able to remember meeting Claviger all those months ago.

“Layla said I was in Redemption for a reason,” Dean continued, the faraway look back in his eyes. “Maybe Claviger was the reason – not just to – to end him. Maybe I was destined to meet him, y’know? Guardian to Guardian, past to present –”

“Wait,” Sam shook his head in non-comprehension. “Layla? From Nebraska Layla? The Layla Roy Le Grange couldn’t heal?”

Dean met his brother’s gaze absently. “Yeah, Layla,” he confirmed. “You know another Layla?”

“You met her? In Redemption?”

Dean blinked. “She was my – my guide, I guess. I think she was destined to be there too – waiting for me. Waiting to help me find Claviger before she could move on. She said everything happens for a reason –”

“Dude. Seriously. Layla? Why the hell didn’t you tell me about that?”

“I didn’t tell you I saw her in Redemption?” Dean sounded genuinely surprised.

“No,” Sam confirmed. “Never.”

“Why wouldn’t I have told you about her?”

“That’s a damn good question! And what the hell did she have to do with Claviger?”

“Nothing.” Dean twirled the amulet absently. “He was there for me. He was there because of this. He called it a ‘family heirloom’ – just like that demon brat did, the one who tried to possess me but couldn’t.”

“Like I said,” Sam put in, “this kind of artifact is usually handed down from father to son –”

“No,” Dean interjected. “Claviger said it was from his mother’s side of the family. And when I asked him who he was, he said –” Dean swallowed. “– he said I should ask Mom.”

Sam just stared at him for a second. “Mom?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you never thought to tell me any of this?”

“Hey, I only just remembered –”

“Dean.”

“Okay, but I don’t remember why I wouldn’t have told you, man. Okay?”

They sat there in silence for a few seconds, before Sam finally muttered, “You think Mom knew? About the amulet? Seems a pretty big coincidence she happened to sing you a lullaby about the amulet’s previous Guardian when you were a kid if she didn’t know anything about it.”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, man. She just said her Gramma taught her the song.” He stared at Sam for a long moment, as if he wasn’t actually seeing him, but was looking at something beyond him. “But that demon… Those same words. ‘Damned family heirloom.’ I can – I can remember it,” he continued, the look in his eyes not quite here and not quite there. “I can remember feeling it inside of me; looking in the mirror and not knowing who was going to be looking back. One day it was beginning to realize it was losing the battle to control me – was beginning to realize it would never completely possess me – and it was becoming more and more furious, more and more pissed off at me, and that’s when it let that thought burst out of it – that if it wasn’t for that ‘damned family heirloom’ it would be in charge right now and I’d be doing Haris’ bidding like I was supposed to be. Like a good little host. Then the demon had gone quiet – real quiet – just clammed up, as if even thinking what it had just thought was a big mistake, dangerous.” He looked up at Sam then. “You were right. I think it let something slip it really shouldn’t have let slip.”

“The amulet,” Sam said breathlessly. “I think maybe it’s a little more important than we’ve given it credit for, even after it stopped you getting possessed.”

“And Haris didn’t want us to start digging, maybe? Didn’t want us to know any more than we already knew? That’s why he wanted my memory erased, so I wouldn’t remember Claviger, wouldn’t remember what the demon let slip. Wouldn’t put two and two together.”

“And they’re the very things you’re remembering first,” Sam observed. “Almost like – like maybe the amulet wants you to remember – Claviger, the demon. The lullaby. I don’t think you even knew you still had that buried in your memory somewhere before all this happened, did you? Or it would have come back to you in Redemption, the first time you saw the gunslinger who was wearing your necklace.”

Dean frowned. “Wait. The amulet wants me to remember?”

Sam shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, man. There’s obviously a hell of a lot more to it than a simple protection charm.”

“I guess it’s a little weird that the only things I’m remembering are the things Haris seems to want me to forget,” Dean agreed. “Claviger, some dumb lullaby, what some pansy-ass demon thought about my taste in jewelry. And yet I still don’t remember my own name, don’t remember Dad, don’t remember you. Don’t remember Mom yet I remember her singing me to sleep… I mean, what the hell does she have to do with all of this?”

Sam sighed, scratching his hand through his hair. “That I don’t know,” he admitted, toying with the pencil and glancing back at his laptop. “You know, I did a little research on Claviger back at Black Creek.”

“And?”

“He was hanged for murdering some apparently innocent farmer. Maintained right up until his death that the guy was a skinwalker who murdered his wife. Left him with two little boys to raise by himself.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dean observed, before suddenly asking, “What happened to his kids?”

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted a little sheepishly. “I guess I got a little sidetracked after Wisconsin – with Haris, his plans. Kidnapping us. Trying to possess you. Trying to kill me… Kinda felt like the End of the World for a while there. Never really did get to the bottom of the whole Claviger deal.”

He pulled out the laptop, opened a browser window and began tapping on the keyboard thoughtfully.

Dean stood, moving over to stand behind his brother. “What are you looking for?”

“Claviger,” Sam replied shortly, clicking and scrolling through page after page of text faster than Dean could even register what he was looking at. “His family. I had some sites bookmarked but never really got the chance to come back and look at them properly…” He tapped a finger against pursed lips as he settled on one site for longer than a nanosecond.

Dean squinted, recognizing the grainy, sepia-toned photograph at the top of the page. “That’s him,” he said. “That’s Emmanuel Claviger.”

Sam nodded, clicking a couple more links before inclining his head slightly. “He had two sons,” he said. “John and James. After Claviger was executed they were brought up in the county orphanage. Looks like John pretty much dropped off the map at sixteen – maybe joined the military. James went on to become the town doctor. He had a daughter…” He trailed off, clicking a link which brought up another hazy photograph. “Holy crap.” He sat back, causing the metal chair to creak ominously.

“What?” Dean asked, leaning in.

“You recognize this guy?” Sam was pointing at the image of a small middle-aged man with thinning hair who was standing next to an elderly lady with large kind eyes and an enigmatic half-smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a Da Vinci.

The woman drew Dean’s attention for some reason, something about her, something familiar, and it was only Sam’s finger repeatedly pointing that forced him to turn his attention to the man. “No,” he said finally. “She looks more familiar than he does –”

“Dean, that’s Shadrack Mann!” Sam burst out. “That’s the guy who gave you the amulet!” He looked up at his brother, as if wanting to hammer his next revelation home. “Dean, he was Emmanuel Claviger’s great-grandson!”

“Holy crap!” Dean echoed Sam’s earlier exclamation. “You sure?”

Sam pointed at the lady in the photograph. “That’s his mother – Patience Mann. She was James Claviger’s daughter.”

“So you think maybe the amulet got passed from Claviger to Mann? That’s what the cowboy and the demon meant by ‘family heirloom’?”

“Maybe not directly,” Sam said, absently clicking on a few more bookmarked websites. “They were separated by a lot of years after all…” He trailed off again, face paling considerably and his eyes widening as he stared unblinkingly at the screen.

“What?” Dean asked, instinctively reading Sam’s body language even if he couldn’t remember where that instinct came from.

Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “I’m not sure I believe it…”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, you’ve asked me to believe a whole lot of crazy-ass stuff in the last couple of days and I think I’ve been pretty accommodating… Come on. Lay it on me.”

Sam was still staring at the computer screen as if it might fizz out of existence if he looked away. “You know I said John Claviger, the older son, just dropped off the paper trail radar? Well I think I just picked him up again – in a census report from a small town in Kansas…” He paused for a second, finally looking away from the computer screen to glance up at his brother. “You remember…?”

“We’re from Kansas,” Dean nodded. “Lawrence. Yeah, you told me yesterday, Sam.”

Sam turned back to the screen. “It looks like John Claviger became the local lawman. He had a son, Robert, who in turn had three daughters, Eliza, Victoria and Mary.”

“Eliza?” Dean echoed. “That was –”

Sam nodded, Dean not even having to finish his sentence. “Yeah. Eliza Claviger married an attorney called Stephen Belmont. They had two sons and two daughters, the oldest son being a Samuel Belmont.” Sam actually swiveled around in his chair to fix Dean with a meaningful stare. “Dean, Belmont was Mom’s maiden name…”

“Gramma Eliza…” Dean straightened, hand fumbling for the back of Sam’s chair, as if he suddenly couldn’t support his own weight anymore. “I remember,” he said softly, eyes drifting to the records displayed on Sam’s computer screen. “You were named after Mom’s dad,” he murmured. “Mom said he died when she was really young and it was a way for her to remember him, a way for her to honor his memory.”

“Samuel Belmont,” Sam nodded his agreement. “He was our grandfather, Dean.”

The boys just looked at each other, neither exactly sure what they were supposed to do with this new information.

“Dean,” Sam said slowly. “You realize what this means? Emmanuel Claviger was our great-great-great-great-grandfather. And – and Shadrack Mann’s like a distant cousin or something.”

“Family heirloom,” Dean said slowly. “That’s why Claviger said I should ask Mom who he was…”

“But she didn’t know, right?” Sam said. “You said she didn’t know who the cowboy in the song was. If she’d known anything about the amulet or Claviger, surely she would have told you – or – or told Dad at least? And he certainly didn’t seem to know that Mann was related to us in any way.”

“So how did Mann get a hold of the amulet?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “The Guardian has to be the firstborn, right?” he hazarded. “A male firstborn. If – if the amulet was passed down the male line from Claviger to John to Robert, skipping Eliza’s generation because there were no sons…”

“Making Grandpa Sammy the last Guardian,” Dean put in.

Sam nodded. “Mom was an only child – no brothers. Maybe when her father died, she was too young to be entrusted with the amulet’s safekeeping so Mann took possession of it until another heir could be found.”

“Me.”

“You.”

“Ah man, I know you’ve told me about some damn creepy stuff these last couple of days, but this has got to out-creepy everything. I mean, Shadrack Mann must have been waiting for me to be born, dude! That’s just –”

“Destiny,” Sam said, eyes drifting to the amulet.

“Well I was gonna say ‘creepy’ –”

“Dean, man, this is big,” Sam continued as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “I mean this is huge! For Haris to go to all this trouble to stop us finding out about it – about the amulet’s history. About its importance to our family. And it’s obviously a hell of a lot more important to him that we originally thought. I mean, we always assumed he just wanted to get it off of you so one of his hellspawn could possess you, but –” he met Dean’s edgy gaze once more. “What if he wanted to get it off of you just because he wanted it? Being able to possess you was just an added bonus.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “Why would he want the amulet?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want it for him. Maybe he just doesn’t want us to have it. But whatever he wants it for, he must be pretty desperate to stop us finding out to go to these lengths.” Sam shook his head. “God, this thing… It’s been right under our noses this whole time. Hell, even Baron Samedi called you ‘Guardian,’ right? It has to mean something. This whole thing with Alyssa – Haris sending her to wipe memories you didn’t even know you still had just to stop us finding out what you had buried in there… He didn’t want us to put the pieces together; didn’t want us to know how significant the amulet really is – to us, to him. And to who knows who else.”

Dean swallowed, the amulet suddenly feeling heavy around his neck. “We need to find Alyssa,” he said, a cold determination creeping into his voice.

“What? No!” Sam stood, alarmed. “That’s the last thing we should do! She said she wants to finish the job, Dean. I think she wants to wipe your memory completely!”

“Exactly,” Dean agreed. “Why? We already know everything Haris wanted me to forget. Right…?” He trailed off, waiting for Sam to catch on to his line of thinking.

Sam nodded slowly, understanding. “Or maybe we don’t…”

“Maybe there’s something else in here,” Dean tapped his temple. “Maybe something about the amulet. Maybe something about Haris. Maybe something about why the amulet is so damned important to him.”

“And maybe Alyssa knows what that is.”

“Yahtzee.”

Sam frowned, unsure whether Dean remembered that word or – remembered – that word. “We need to find Alyssa.”

“And I think I know where she’ll be…”

Medina House, Phoenix, AZ

“Scene of the crime.” Dean drew a breath as he gazed up at the shuttered edifice of the Medina house, the afternoon sun seeming to bleach the color out of everything until he felt like he was looking at another of those sepia-toned photographs he’d been staring at on Sam’s computer earlier. “This house. This house is as significant to Alyssa as the amulet is to us, whether she wants to admit it or not. Killing her own parents here? That’s gonna have made a lasting impression on her, even if she doesn’t realize it.”

Sam nodded his agreement, following his brother’s gaze. “Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t like this.”

Dean grinned lopsidedly. “Hey, she tries anything, I’ll just hide behind you, Rambo Sam –”

“Like last time?” Sam quirked a teasing eyebrow.

“Dude, you took me by surprise is all!” Dean protested. “No way I’d let you shove me around like that again.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam continued to stare up at the house, unmoving, the playful smile gradually fading from his worried features.

“What is it?” Dean asked, still uncertain how he was able to pick up on Sam’s vibes so accurately when he barely even remembered the kid.

“I dunno,” Sam said. “A thought.”

“Phew, careful Sam. Don’t wanna be having too many of those things.”

Sam shot him a sidelong glance. “About this house.”

Dean sobered a little. “Okay. Think away, Einstein.”

“What if –” Sam stopped short, wondering how to phrase such a crazy notion as had just occurred to him. “Okay, Alyssa whammied you and her parents in there, right?”

“Right.”

“But when she tried it on me outside the library –”

“It didn’t work. You figured maybe you were immune to her.”

Sam nodded minutely. “What if – if it wasn’t me that stopped her powers from working? What if it was the location? What if her powers only work here?”

Dean blew out a breath. “Wow, that’s some pep talk, Sam. Just as we’re about to face off against Ms. Anti-Memory-Demon-Chick and all.” He shook his head in exasperation. “You know, I was kinda counting on you being our invulnerable ace in the hole here!”

Sam shrugged. “Just thinking out loud, man.”

“I told you thinking was bad for you.”

They both looked up at the house again, only this time a little more uncertainly.

“Nah,” Dean said eventually. “That’s crazy. Just nerves talking.”

“No more crazy than Alyssa being here in the first place.”

“That’s not crazy. That’s deductive reasoning. One crazy person to another.” Dean glanced back up at the shuttered windows and wondered which room Alyssa was in, just lying in wait for them… “Okay, this is getting us nowhere,” he snapped. “I say we go in, we find her, we stay the hell away from those grabby hands of hers and – and – we get her to talk.”

“How?”

Dean pulled out his .45 and grinned. “Favorite toy, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, that’s it. You remember you gun but you don’t remember me?”

Dean shrugged. “She’s prettier than you. C’mon. Time’s a-wastin’, dude.”

* * * *

Breaking in to the Medina house was actually a whole lot easier than it had been getting past Maisie – Alyssa – the first time around, Sam mused as he climbed through the sash window and into the living room, Dean following close on his heels.

Disturbed dust motes danced in the sunlight slanting through the window as Sam blinked to adjust his eyes to the dingy interior of the house.

“So I guess Alyssa’s given up pretending she’s house-sitting,” Dean muttered, drawing his .45 even as Sam pulled out his 9mm.

“So where d’you think she’ll be?” Sam whispered, glancing around nervously.

Dean inclined his head toward the ceiling. “Told you. Scene of the crime.”

But – wait – you think she’s waiting for us up there?”

“That’s where I’d be.”

“But she’s a little – y’know – nuts.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Takes one to know one.”

“Point taken,” Sam acquiesced. “Although,” he added as an afterthought, following Dean toward the stairs, “I’m sorry if I made you sound kinda crazy when I – described you. To you.” A small frown creased his forehead as he tried to work out what the hell he’d just said. “Y’know?”

Dean glanced back at him as he began to climb the stairs. “Hey, we get to be this good-looking, I figure there’s gotta be a trade-off somewhere in the Winchester DNA.” He grinned roguishly and Sam shook his head.

“This is pretty weird amnesia, man,” he muttered. “You don’t remember who you are but you still remember how to be you.”

Dean wasn’t sure what that meant, but as he’d reached the top of the stairs at that point, he figured a response would probably have to wait.

Reaffirming his grip on his handgun, he spun into the hallway, weapon at the ready in front of him, Sam mirroring his stance at his shoulder.

Their eyes met silently when they realized there was as yet no sign of Alyssa, Dean taking point as they inched their way toward the door still marked with now broken yellow crime scene tape.

Dean paused at the door, and Sam made to push him behind him again, but Dean stood his ground this time, scowling up at his brother as he shook his head in determination.

Brute force having failed him this time, Sam went for the puppy dog look, but Dean was immovable, pointedly ignoring his brother’s silent pleas as he took hold of the door handle and slowly opened the door.

The same scene greeted him as the last time he’d been here, and as he eyes carefully moved around the empty room, he began to imagine he remembered being here before.

“She’s not here,” Sam observed, voice back to its usual volume as he, too, examined the crime scene, having had neither the time nor the inclination to take much of it in on his last visit, what with his big brother collapsed unconscious on the floor and everything.

Dean lowered his weapon but didn’t put it away, slowly edging toward the shuttered window as if he didn’t quite believe the room was empty.

After all, they’d met an invisible man once.

He shook his head a little as that particular memory surfaced, an image of him and Sam handcuffed to a tree suddenly assaulting his senses.

He blinked a couple of times before his eyes focused on the broken photo frame lying amongst the debris.

Crouching down, he pulled the picture from the frame and showed it to Sam. “The Medina family,” he said. “In happier times.”

Sam examined the photo – Victor, Flora and Alyssa all smiling happily at the camera, blissfully oblivious of the fate that was about to befall them – and was eerily reminded of another picture, another family; the picture Jenny had given them back in Lawrence: The Winchesters. John, Mary, Dean and Little Sammy…

Sometimes he wished that instead of crummy death visions he’d been gifted with the ability to time travel.

The sudden slamming of the door behind Sam’s shoulder caused both brothers to start, Dean on his feet almost as fast as Sam stepped in front of him, gun drawn.

“Surprise!” Alyssa smiled sweetly at them, seemingly unruffled by finding herself staring down the barrels of two guns pointed at her head. “Or not. Anyone would think you were expecting me.”

“Y’know, I kept telling Dean you wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back here,” Sam said, sarcastic disappointment dripping from his words. “I guess I over-estimated you.”

“Well ditto,” Alyssa returned with a nasty little smirk, twirling a lock of her dark hair around one finger. “I thought you boys were smarter than that. You certainly think you’re really clever, don’t you? Think you’ve put all the pieces together? Got it all worked out?”

“All we need to know from you, bitch,” Dean growled, stepping stubbornly out of Sam’s considerable shadow, “is what the hell else is in my head? What’s the big secret your boss is so scared we’re gonna find out about? Huh?” He caught hold of the amulet and held it out towards her. “Why’s he so scared of this thing? What’s he afraid we’re gonna do with it?”

Alyssa continued to smile placidly. “How should I know? Looks like it fell out of a cheap Christmas cracker, if you ask me.”

Dean gritted his teeth, taking another step toward her, the gun still pointed at her head. “Wrong answer, sweetheart,” he snarled. “You’d better wise up before I put a bullet between those pretty eyes of yours –”

“Dean –” Sam began to warn him.

“Yeah, Dean,” Alyssa mocked. “Come on. Put your money where your mouth is. You gonna shoot me? You gonna shoot an unarmed human?”

“Oh honey, you’re not unarmed,” Dean observed. “And I’m not entirely convinced you’re human either.”

Alyssa laughed derisively. “I’m as human as Sammy,” she said, nodding toward the younger Winchester. “You willing to put a bullet in his brain someday?”

Dean froze, and Sam saw the end of the .45 tremble, even as his brother tightened his grip.

Alyssa laughed again. “Thought not. Can’t off one of Haris’ Psychic Kids till you know what you’re dealing with, can you Dean? Till you know what you’re living with –”

“Shut the hell up!” Dean growled as Alyssa’s gaze slid meaningfully to Sam.

“You come here ’cause you thought I couldn’t hurt you, Sammy?” she asked, taking a languid step towards him. “Taking a bit of a risk. Especially with your brother in such a fragile state right now –”

Dean matched her slow forward motion, gun still out in front of him. “This look fragile to you, sister?” he demanded.

The corner of Alyssa’s ruby red lips twitched upwards. “Oh baby, you’re so weak right now my kitten could kick your ass.”

Dean’s scowl intensified and he took another angry step towards her, pausing only when Sam placed a hand on his chest and stopped any further ideas he had about forward momentum.

“Why did you come back here?” Sam demanded, feeling the disgruntled rage thrumming through Dean’s body. “To finish the job? You wanna wipe some more of my brother’s memory in the hopes you’ll get it right this time?”

Alyssa’s smile faltered a little, a hand going to her hip as she tossed her hair over one shoulder.

“’Cause you screwed up royally before, didn’t you?” Sam continued. “Your whole plan backfired. The memory Haris wanted you to erase – his demon rugrat’s little slip about the ‘family heirloom’? That was one of the first things Dean remembered – along with a whole lot of other useful memories he didn’t know he still had.”

Dean grinned sunnily. “Even better than hypnotic regression therapy,” he put in.

Alyssa’s half-smile became a grimace. “You don’t know anything,” she told them. “Not a thing –”

“About Emmanuel Claviger? About our connection to the amulet?” Sam said. “No, we don’t know anything about that.”

“Half-memories and guesswork,” Alyssa retorted, the evilly over-confident smile returning to her full lips. “You’ll never figure out the real secret –”

“So there is something else?” Sam stepped forward, and Alyssa’s smile slipped again.

“I’m going to wipe your brother’s slate totally clean,” she hissed, abruptly changing the subject. “By the time I’m done with him he’ll be drooling in front of re-runs of The Teletubbies–”

“God, that Tinky Winky creeps me out,” Dean shuddered. “Even half brain dead I’d still have better taste in TV than that!”

“You think you’re funny, huh?” Alyssa said. “We’ll see how funny you are when you need help going to the bathroom!”

“You offering?” Dean raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Kinda kinky but I’m always up for new experiences.”

“I’m going to wipe that smug smile so far off your face –”

“– That I won’t be a threat anymore?” Dean hazarded, suddenly completely serious. “And if I’m no threat, then neither is the amulet, right?”

Alyssa’s grimace hardened. She’d said too much. Just like that stupid demon. “Enough talking!” she spat. “I’ve got work to do.”

With that, she lunged at Dean, grabbing his right wrist and twisting hard until the .45 fell from his startled grip. His eyes widened in shock and surprised pain as the gun hit the floor with a muffled whump just as Sam stepped toward him, grabbing Alyssa’s upper arm and yanking her around to face him.

“I said stay the hell away from him!” he growled, bringing his own gun up toward the girl’s face. “I mean it!”

Suddenly Alyssa’s attention was all on Sam, Dean seemingly forgotten as the hand that wasn’t clutching the older brother’s wrist caught hold of Sam’s forearm. As her eyes widened to unnatural proportions, a blinding white light began to emanate from behind her eyeballs and leak out of her eye sockets until her eyes themselves were glowing brighter than anything Sam could ever remember seeing, even brighter than the explosion that had temporarily blinded him back in Riverside.

Sam’s own gun slid from his hand and suddenly he was gripping both Alyssa’s forearms, even as her fingers began to dig even harder into his and Dean’s flesh.

Gritting his teeth, Sam looked directly into Alyssa’s eyes, somehow knowing he would not be blinded as the overwhelming brightness seemed to reflect back off his own blue-green orbs until they appeared to be glowing too.

“Close your eyes, Dean,” Sam ordered, and Dean didn’t even hesitate, didn’t question, merely complied with his brother’s instruction instantly. “C’mon, bitch,” Sam continued, the intense light seeming to coalesce at a point somewhere between his eyes and Alyssa’s. “Let’s see whatcha got.”

Alyssa grimaced, beginning to tremble as she abruptly tried to pull away from Sam’s iron grip. “No,” she mumbled, trying to blink, trying to break eye contact, but unable to do either, unable to move at all. “You shouldn’t be able to do that! How are you doing that?”

“Beats me,” Sam said lightly, the brightness reflecting off his eyes becoming more and more intense even as the light in Alyssa’s began to dim.

“No!” Alyssa screamed, suddenly releasing her hold on Dean, who collapsed to the floor with a thud as the girl grabbed at her head. “No!”

A violent scream was torn from her throat that would have shocked Sam had he realized he was the one responsible for causing it.

“You shouldn’t be able to –”

The light abruptly snapped off in Alyssa’s eyes as if someone had thrown a switch, and suddenly she was falling to the floor, Sam letting her go rather than making any move to catch her.

“I told you to stay the hell away from my brother,” he repeated, eyes still glowing an eerie white until he blinked hard and, just as it had with Alyssa, the light disappeared.

Sam just stood there for a second, just breathing, just blinking, looking down at the crumpled heap that was Alyssa and trying not to think at all about what had just happened. About what he’d just done.

Before he could ponder too deeply, he became aware of a groan from the direction of his brother, and was instantly crouching by Dean’s side, hand on the back of the older boy’s neck as he cautiously raised him into a sitting position. “Hey, Dean. Hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. Dean?”

Dean’s dazed eyes swept about the room uncertainly until they finally found his little brother, gazing up at him, wide and unfocused, almost as if they’d never seen him before.

“Dean?” Sam repeated, not liking the spaced-out expression on his brother’s face. “You with me?”

Dean blinked and Sam thought he saw something – some little spark of something – that had been noticeably absent from Dean’s eyes for the past couple of days.

“Sammy?” Dean croaked slowly, the nickname coming as naturally to his lips as breathing. “What the hell just happened?”

Arizona State Psychiatric Institute
Chronic Care Ward

Nancy Russo cooed encouragingly as she raised the spoonful of oatmeal to her patient’s pale lips, the girl taking a small amount into her mouth and swallowing before blinking owlishly, blank vacant eyes directed vaguely in the direction of the television set switched off in the corner of the day room.

“Good girl, Alyssa,” the nurse said, smiling broadly and patting her patient gently on the hand before turning to the two visitors sitting awkwardly on the other side of the table.

“All things considered,” Nancy said, a sympathetic smile directed at the two handsome young men in front of her, “your cousin’s doing remarkably well. The brain can be a very strange thing sometimes. You say she fell?”

The taller of the two young men, the one with the empathetic gaze and endearingly rebellious hair, nodded sadly, leaning further forward in his seat. “She collapsed after she had some kind of seizure,” he confirmed. “It’s a good thing we were visiting or she could have been lying there for days…”

Nancy shook her head, gaze returning to her patient. “Such a shame. So young. And so soon after her parents passed on. She’s lucky to have relatives like you to take an interest in her.”

The two young men glanced at each other quickly, before the other man, shorter haired and with unnaturally long eyelashes that Nancy couldn’t seem to stop looking at, suddenly blurted out, “So she’ll be like this for the rest of her life?” his expression becoming strangely unreadable.

The nurse nodded sadly. “The doctors aren’t holding out much hope,” she said. “Although they can’t find any actual damage to Alyssa’s brain.” She turned to face the unresponsive girl, another spoonful of the oatmeal held out toward her, but not before catching another odd little look pass between the girl’s cousins. Shrugging, she continued, “The doctors think it might be some kind of hysterical amnesia brought on by severe emotional trauma,” she said. “Poor little thing. Can’t even remember how to speak much less who she is. Considering what she’s been through, maybe that’s a blessing…”

Nancy continued to feed her patient diligently, her two cousins sitting in uncomfortable silence as they watched her ministrations.

“Still,” she said with another encouraging smile. “Hope springs eternal. If Alyssa wants to come back to us, then she will, I’m sure. Whatever the doctors say.”

Another furtive glance was exchanged between the two young men, before the taller one clapped his hands on his knees and said, “Well, we should go. Leave Alyssa to eat in peace.”

The other one took his cue from that, both rising to their feet as Nancy took Alyssa’s limp hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Say goodbye to your cousins, honey,” she said, although she knew there was no way the girl would ever do such a thing again.

The shorter cousin offered Alyssa a strange little smile, and Nancy wondered whether the girl was even aware he was there.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Goodbye Alyssa.”

* * * *

“Well that was just weird,” Dean commented, glancing once back over his shoulder at the insensible form of Alyssa Medina as he jabbed impatiently at the elevator call button.

“She got what she deserved.” Sam’s voice was oddly cold and he didn’t look back at the girl once. “She was planning on doing that to you.”

Dean didn’t comment immediately, preferring to wait until they were alone on the elevator and safely out of anyone else’s earshot.

“Sammy, what the hell did you do to her?” he demanded the second the doors closed, and Sam merely looked at him before his face split into an incongruous grin.

“I never thought I’d be happy to hear you call me ‘Sammy’ again,” he admitted wryly.

“Huh?” Dean grunted. “I always call you Sammy –”

“Not when you’d lost your memory you didn’t,” Sam told him. “Hardly at all. Yet as soon as you’re you again –”

“You mean I wasn’t me when I didn’t remember who me was?” Dean frowned at himself the second the words left his mouth and Sam arched an eyebrow.

“You were…” The younger brother thought about it for a second, “…different. When you didn’t remember.”

“Maybe,” Dean conceded. “But now that I am me again, I suddenly remember how ‘Sammy’ likes to avoid answering awkward questions.”

Sam’s smile faded, and he found himself scrutinizing his reflection in the elevator doors.

“Sam?” Dean prodded. “One minute Alyssa’s trying to Swiss cheese the both of us, next minute she’s a gibbering wreck on the floor and I can suddenly remember every birthday present you ever got – including that little surprise poison bullet you got this year.” He paused, looking up at his brother while Sam steadfastly refused to return his gaze. “C’mon man,” he prodded. “What gives?”

Sam sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and opening his mouth to speak just as the elevator hit the lobby and the doors slid jerkily open.

Sam ducked out hurriedly, Dean pausing before reluctantly following his brother out of the hospital.

“Sam.”

Sam was already striding purposefully across the parking lot to where the Impala stood waiting, the big Chevy seemingly already eager to be moving on to their next destination – wherever that might be.

Dean caught up to Sam, instinctively unlocking the passenger door first so that Sam could get inside. It was as hot as hell out in the bright sunlight, but even hotter in the black car’s non-air-conditioned interior, and yet Dean got the distinct impression that what Sam wanted to get off his chest he wanted to get off his chest in private.

“Okay, Dorothy,” Dean said, sliding into his rightful place behind the wheel beside his brother and immediately winding down the window with very little appreciable effect. “Spill it. What happened. Did you fix me? Did you break Alyssa to fix me? Or – or did Alyssa break herself…?”

Sam blew out a low breath. “Honestly?” he said, for the first time since they’d entered the hospital really meeting Dean’s gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t do anything. Not consciously anyway. All I knew was that Alyssa was trying to hurt you; and then it was like Max Miller’s house all over again, when all of a sudden I was telekinetic, able to use Max’s powers to get to you, to save you from him.”

Dean rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “You think it was the same deal with Alyssa?” he asked slowly, not entirely sure he wanted to know Sam’s answer. “You think you somehow used her powers to save me, like at Max’s house? By turning them back on her? I mean, it’s pretty weird I should get my memory back at the exact same second she loses hers…”

Sam shook his head, eyes rolling momentarily upward. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “It didn’t feel like – it didn’t feel like I’d taken her powers. More like – more like I was reflecting them back onto her. Somehow. Kind of like a mirror, I guess. Like I was the mirror. That’s – that’s how it felt at Max’s house too.”

Dean found himself gazing wistfully back at the hospital, wondering which window Alyssa would spend the rest of her life not seeing out of.

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself not to care.

“Well,” he said at length. “I guess at least we won’t have to worry about her coming after us again. She’s about as much of a threat as Max Miller now.”

“Dean, Max Miller’s dead.”

“Exactly. And I don’t know how you did it either, but I want you to know I’m grateful.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

Dean grinned. “Happy to be me again, Sammy! Amnesia Dean was a pain-in-the-ass girlie wuss hiding behind his little brother all the time –”

Sam snorted. “Now you know how I feel every time you try to take a bullet for me.”

Dean’s expression sobered. “Okay, I get it. You’re all grown up now and don’t need me fighting your battles for you –”

“No,” Sam put in. “But I do need you fighting them with me, Dean.” Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Sam smiled slightly. “And I’m glad you’re ‘you’ again, too.”

“Thanks to you,” Dean said. “Whatever the hell you did to fix me.”

Sam’s eyes trailed to the amulet around Dean’s neck. “What if it wasn’t me?” he mused thoughtfully. “That fixed you, I mean.”

Dean followed the direction of Sam’s gaze. “Sam, you kicked that psychic psycho bitch’s ass, dude!”

“Maybe,” Sam was still considering the amulet. “Maybe I had some help.”

“What, you think the amulet whammied Alyssa?” Dean snorted derisively. “Gimme a break. That was all you, kiddo.”

“Maybe,” Sam said again, sounding less than convinced. “Maybe I did reflect Alyssa’s powers back onto her somehow, took her out of the game. But what if it wasn’t me that fixed you? That gave you back your memory?”

Dean’s attention slid back to the amulet, a hesitant look of wonder on his face that slowly altered to one of skeptical disbelief. “When the chips were down,” he said finally, “this thing didn’t do much for Emmanuel Claviger, did it? He still got executed with everyone thinking he was one bullet short of a full cylinder.” He sighed, leaning back in the seat. “No. It wasn’t the amulet. It was you, Sammy. Your freaky-ass Shining fixed me. I’m sure of it.”

Sam smiled weakly. “Thanks,” he allowed sheepishly. “Any time.” He shifted awkwardly on the Impala’s hot upholstery before adding, “You think she knew? Mom? About Claviger? About the ‘charm ’round his neck’?”

Dean somehow managed to shrug and shake his head at the same time. “You know I remember that stupid song now,” he said, eyes faraway for a second. “Hadn’t thought about it in years. But I remember asking Mom who the song was about, who the cowboy was. And she said she didn’t know. She just remembered Gramma Eliza singing it to her.” He scratched his head absently. “And besides, if she’d known about the amulet, about her family’s connection to it, I think she would have been the one to give it to me. Or she would at least have told Dad about it. You know, before the fire? Someone gave the thing to Shadrack Mann for safe-keeping and I’m thinking it had to have been Grandpa Sammy, Sam.”

Sam nodded his agreement. “You really think he was the previous Guardian? He died when Mom was, like, six or something didn’t he? So it would only make sense that he’d pass it on to someone who understood its significance. Someone like ol’ Cousin Shadrack.”

“Can’t believe we’re related to that crazy old coot.”

“More importantly,” Sam continued, eyes locking with Dean’s. “Did Dad know?”

“About Shadrack?” Dean asked. “Or about Mom’s family?”

“Either,” Sam said. “Both. Maybe Shadrack told him a little more than he told you…”

Dean sighed, just looking at Sam for a second. “Yeah,” he said, voice resigned as he reached for his cell phone. “Maybe it’s time we call the old man…”

He stared at the cell hesitantly, finger poised over Dad’s speed-dial number, before suddenly closing the phone and putting it back in his pocket.

Sam arched an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna call him?” He sounded surprised.

“I just got over one trauma,” Dean said, voice sounding light but completely failing to fool his brother. “Could do without another.”

“He may have answers,” Sam pointed out carefully, feeling like he was treading on eggshells.

Dean glanced over at him. “Which means he lied to me, Sammy,” he explained.

Sam nodded his understanding. “Just like the old family curse, huh? Keeping secrets to protect us.”

“Secrets, lies,” Dean muttered. “Potato, potaaato…” He took a breath, collecting his thoughts, before reaching out and twisting the Impala’s ignition, feeling the V8 roar to life beneath him. “C’mon, Sam,” he said on an exhale. “Let’s shake some dust before I forget where we’re supposed to be headed…”

The End

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The Winchester Chronicles