fic: My life on paper (2/2)
Part 1
"Sam!" Dean rushed up the stairs and knelt to check Sam's pulse. It was strong, if erratic. He smacked Sam a little on the face.
Sam, stretched out under him in the hall, groaned and blearily opened his eyes, reaching out to Dean on impulse. "Wha-Who are you?"
Dean sighed and sat back on his heels. "Not again."
Dean rapped at the guest room door with the back of his knuckles. Time to face the music.
When Sam called from inside, he tipped the door wider and held the plate like a peace offering, a grin in place just in case. "Brought you some grilled cheese."
Sam turned fully in the desk chair and moved aside so Dean could put it on the table. "Thanks, man."
He looked the same, in a green flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows and the same jeans. Dean should have been used to this by now, what with shacking up with Sam's more soulless counterpart for the better part of a year, but he just wasn't. Sam's mannerisms were all off, and he didn't know anything that made Sam who he was.
"How you feeling?"
"I'm good, I'm good. I mean, I don't remember anything yet, but I'm fine."
He hadn't snapped back, then. Dean's shoulders slumped. "We were worried about that. Here, eat. You always do crazy shit when you're low blood sugar."
"Dean," Sam said. "Just tell me something, anything." He looked kind of pissed off, but in a simple way, that way where he didn't know what he was asking and didn't know where they'd been. "Come on man. You can't leave me in the dark. Was I in an accident or something?"
Dean took a step forward, couldn't help it. “Look, Bobby figures that whatever random triggers you have for....flashbacks, well, your subconscious sidesteps them or something."
"And gives me amnesia?"
"Pretty much."
"Talk about fucked up," Sam muttered.
"So here's the thing. We're gonna go slow. Give it a few days this time. I'll drop a few things here and there. Sam? You listening?"
Sam was looking out the window in thought, over the mangled, metal bodies of a thousand wreckers Bobby'd never found the time to fix up. “Is it PTSD or something? Was I a soldier?"
"Somethin' like."
"Is Bobby a doctor, then? Or-or a shrink?"
"Er, no. He's one of Dad's old hunting buddies."
"Hunting," Sam laughed. "What business's a dude who hangs out shooting deer got issuing mental health reports?"
There was no ready answer. Dean looked at his hands. Five times-Five times Sam had been triggered and fallen to pieces again. Five times he'd gone all blank-slate and freaky. Dean had that rogue thought again, that fear that maybe there was no way to go about this, that Sam'd never remember without splitting apart. But then he tamped that down and squashed it out in his mind.
"We will get through this." Dean stepped up close to the chair and said it like he meant it, holding Sam's gaze so he knew Dean meant it. "I'm not leaving you like this, you got that? We've made it through shit before, and we'll get through this."
Sam bit his lip, obviously uncertain.
"Together," Dean said firmly. And he was all set to make some speech or something, when Sam smiled up at him, small and just for him. Dean could feel Sam's breath on his palm where he was cupping his face, noted how Sam was looking a little more reassured the longer Dean stood there. It was warming, working both ways. Dean felt tentatively hopeful, although that was never, never a good idea.
"You sure we're brothers?" Sam muttered. "Because this doesn't feel like-"
"You've got to be kidding me."
Nancy came with coffee, which Dean lunged at. Sam accepted his but shook his head when she offered them cream.
"I take mine black." He frowned. "I think." Dean could sense him looking over for confirmation, but Dean couldn't meet his eyes, thinking wrong.
Yeah, Dean didn't have much of an appetite, thinking how he was going to manage to ease Sam into this. It was necessary. Couldn't let Sam stave off insanity through avoidance, had to work through it. Road to healing and all that.
Dean thought about it and he thought about it. The only comfort was this place, this diner. They ate here every morning, in some vague attempt to test Sam's memory. But really Dean just liked coming here, the familiarity. Five years of dropping in for breakfast at dawn, 5AM sausage and coffee when they were worn out after a long night of checking texts from the Middle Ages that Dean could only half read. Eyes itchy because he didn't do well with dust, Dean'd gulp down a few cups and feel at least half-human again.
Sam was eating french toast with a ton of syrup and shooting Dean little concerned glances from time to time and Dean just sent him an uneasy one back. Sam kicked him under the table. "You all right, man? Looks like you got something to say."
Dean licked his lips and flicked his gaze up to Sam's. The guy was looking at him so honestly. Dean shoved three pieces of bacon into his mouth so he wouldn't have to reply.
He was going to tell him. He was going to remind him of who he was and all the shit he'd had to go through to get to this point.
But not yet. Next time. He'd get it out, even though it scared the hell out of him. He'd write it on the back of the receipt if he had to.
At six o'clock, Sam dropped down next to him on the couch, weight sinking in, legs splaying till their knees touched, denim against denim. He put something next to the couch but Dean couldn't even bear to look at him.
"How's tricks?" he said instead.
"I found stuff in yard," Sam told him, which explained the smell of sweat and grease, warm sunlight.
Dean kept his eyes firm on the flickering TV. "You been digging through old cars?"
"No. Just walking around. You know, seeing if anything sparks a memory since you don't seem to be opening up about it. I'm not bitter at all. Nope. Just hanging around, on house arrest, trying to remember who I am."
"Okay," Dean sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. What sort of stuff?"
Sam revealed what he'd been carrying. Dean knocked his head back against the couch cushions a few times at the sight of it, and only then did he look back to Sam who was smiling because he knew it was something, had probably felt lost and then found when he'd lain eyes on it in a heap of scrap metal.
"This was ours, wasn't it?" He held the license plate aloft, kind of proud of himself. "KAZ 2Y5."
"Sam," Dean tried. "You can't just bring junk in from out there. It's all trash. You're gonna get tetanus, and then you'll really be dead."
"What, we too stupid to get our shots?"
"Don't exactly have health care," Dean muttered. "But no, we get check-ups. Free clinics."
"This is ours." Sam leaned towards him, which was pretty damn close. "Don't lie to me, please Dean."
Dean looked away. "Maybe."
"So we're from Kansas."
"Yes, Sam. Kansas. Happy now? We're from Kansas."
Sam wedged his foot under Dean's so their ankles were resting together. He said, "See, that wasn't so hard."
Dean felt a tug in his gut which just wouldn't do. "Ho-kay."
He got up and popped in a videotape and made sure that, when he sat down again, it was farther down the couch, out of reach.
Sam didn't seem to notice, but Dean knew he was a devious bastard and struggled to keep his guard up even though Sam looked attentively at the screen in ways he wouldn't normally if Dean was trying to force the classics on him.
"So, what is this?"
Dean smiled. "Best movie ever. Well, it's in my top twenty. Blade Runner?"
"Sure, sure," Sam said.
"Hey, I would never lie to you. I'm taking care of your education, that's what I'm here for. And this is your lesson in sci-fi. Now pay attention."
The opening credits, the gritty vcs quality. Sam settled back and didn't comment. Dean drank down half his beer and then rested it between his knees.
The movie made him think. He always managed to get Sam back, talk him back into his memories, but every time, he saw all the horror crashing back: the hell memories, the soulless days memories, the plain reality that was their lives. Sam was like a ten year old who got told he was gonna spend the rest of his life doing the world's dirty work. Sometimes Dean thought, maybe Sam was better off this way, ignorant, in a state of annoyance, if not bliss.
He was lost in thought, so he didn't notice when things started to go sideways again. And maybe it was the familiarity, hanging out with a beer and someone who at least looked like Sam by his side, smelled like Sam, after a trying day. Maybe it was all screwing with his head, but whatever the reason, he sure took a second too long to react when Sam crowded up to him on the couch. He was the last person Dean would expect, was maybe why Dean turned towards him in surprise, taking time to fumble his beer upright on the floor, instead of shoving Sam off straight away. Sam was suddenly all over him, kissing his neck, then his mouth.
Dean parted his lips to say something, anything, something indignant, but of course Sam took that as permission and kissed him for real this time, licking at Dean's teeth and moaning into Dean's mouth. He pushed a hand up his shirt to graze nails over Dean's bare skin.
"Fuck," Dean groaned, splaying his knees because Sam had kind of launched himself onto them, and Dean didn't want to worry about finding the guy another kidney on top of everything.
Sam settled in to kiss him slow into the cushions for a second longer, smiling and saying, "Hell yeah" against Dean's lips. Which was too much. Shock broke and Dean shoved him off. Sam went with a resigned sort of disappointment.
"Woah." Dean glared at him, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Dude."
Sam shrugged and grabbed Dean's beer off the ground. "Yeah, yeah. Save it." He drank the rest of the beer.
"Hey!"
Sam ignored him. He leaned toward the TV, hands dangling over his knees. "I've seen this before. Yeah, I've definitely seen this before. I don't think I like it very much."
Dean felt jittery, could still taste Sam on his tongue. "Seriously? Amnesia and this is still the thing you remember, that you don't like my favorite movie?"
"One of your top twenty," Sam corrected him. "And if it's important, it's important."
Dean snorted, feeling his guts twist again, but bad.
"Actually-Huh, this part looks really familiar." Sam half-stood, eyes glued to the TV. "Familiar like-"
Dean got a hand on his arm, just as he went down. "Sam!"
It was hard to watch. Sometimes Dean just wanted to put that moment off, maybe forever. See if Sam could have a fresh start.
Bobby was currently pacing a groove into the throw rug. "Seems like after what happened when the wall fell, Sam's brain periodically closes off under stress, puts up its own sort of barrier."
"Well at least he's not comatose." Dean wouldn't say it aloud, that he would almost prefer it that way, Sam knocked out until his brain finished putting things back together. "It's real creepy, Bobby."
"You're telling me. The kid jumped back when I pulled out a gun this morning. Just cleaning it to protect your ass, I told 'im. You know what he said to that? He gave me a lecture on gun control."
"Yeah, he remembers some stuff. It's freaking bizarre, that's what it is."
Maybe they could knock him out till his subconscious did the work for them, melded bits back together like an ugly scar. It was a real temptation.
"No, but I promised I'd never do that to him," Dean said. "And I'm not gonna. We've already gone through this, losing him. I don't want to do it again."
Bobby looked at him with too much pity. Dean grabbed a bottle from the bookshelf in a jerky moment of barely controlled emotion. He poured them both a couple inches in tumblers that had been sitting out since the night before.
Bobby rolled his eyes as he accepted. "Yeah, cuz all of us forgettin's gonna help loads." But he drank anyway.
Sam came in then, slouching awkwardly against the door frame. "I really dig the fall-out shelter."
"The panic room?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, you know," Sam made a circling motion with a finger. "The star vent thing. Nice. And the bed. Realistic-looking, like people actually vomited on the mattress."
Dean and Bobby remained silent, although their eyes caught in agreement to tell the truth before Bobby looked down to the book he was poring over.
Sam laughed, a nervous thing. "That where you guys keep dead bodies or something?"
Bobby didn't glance up from his research. "Sometimes."
"What?" Sam yelped.
"Oh for the-" Dean slammed the fridge open to get himself a beer.
"Mind piping down? I'm trying to do some research to get your fool ass out of this." Sam put both hands up in a placating gesture, and Bobby shook his head. "Dean, train your brother."
"Heh, brother," Sam muttered. Dean remembered the taste of hot dust and spit from a few days back. He wondered if Sam remembered anything about it, anything at all.
Sam got up and wandered the room. Dean watched him do it, sipping at a cold beer.
After a while, Sam stopped at Bobby's desk. He pushed a plate to Bobby's elbow. "Please, you've been mid-bite for over an hour. I don't know if old-Sam had OCD tendencies, but it's really stressing me out."
Dean laughed. "You heard the kid-eat the damn pie, Bobby."
"Ain't pie, it's cobbler."
"I'm not a kid," Sam sulked. "Hey, how old am I? I feel really old, like, like I've lived a long time."
"Hooo boy. I'm stayin out of this discussion."
Dean turned from the fridge. "Where are you going?"
"Off to town to restock on lamb's blood," Bobby said, getting up quickly.
"You're serious?" Sam spoke in the tones of one resigned to being in the clutches of criminals.
"Good luck." He left the house.
Sam instantly got all up in Dean's space, cornered him in with an arm over him on the cabinet.
"Hell-oh," Dean said. He eyed him warily. No false moves. "Do you maybe wanna stop touching me?"
Sam put both hands on Dean's hips and nosed his jaw. "No fucking way."
“Excuse me?"
"I believe we're brothers," Sam said. "But there's no way we haven't done this before."
"Uh, yah huh," Dean said, his best argument.
"I want to know who you are. I feel like I know you. Like, know you-know you."
Dean slid his hands up Sam's hard chest to push him away. He didn't quite want to.
Dean was stretching out the meal. When the food comes, he'd told himself. When the food comes, that's when I'm gonna tell him.
Sam was half way through his Reuben, and Dean hadn't said much more than, "Pass the salt, you garbage disposal of a human being" when Sam started stealing fries off his plate.
The next time he takes a fry, I'll tell him. When we finish eating, I'll tell him.
Sam leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "I'm done. How about you?"
Dean opened his mouth to say any number of things, but Nancy was back. "You boys want dessert?"
Dean looked at Sam, who only shrugged.
"Ye-es," Dean decided. When the pie gets here. "I'll have a slice of your cherry pie and my little brother here'll have an otter pop."
Sam gave him the bitch face, which apparently wasn't a learned thing. In a question of nature versus nurture....
"Coming right up," Nancy said.
"I remember something about a dude."
"A dude," Dean repeated.
"Yeah, a dude with a messed up face. Asking me something. Is that a real memory?"
Dean didn't answer, though he urged himself to take the opportunity.
Sam put a hand on the table between them. "What is it? You think I won't be able to handle it?"
"Sammy, no one can handle this level of bullshit." Sam frowned, so Dean gave him a truth he could tell. "You're actually the bravest person I know."
"Woah, that wasn't out of left field or anything."
Dean gave a wry laugh. He was going to tell Sam everything, right after the pie got there. He said, "Yeah. You know me, random."
"No, actually I don't." Sam inched his hand forward so his fingers were brushing the back of Dean's. Dean instantly tried to draw away but Sam held on until Dean looked at him.
"I want to though. I want to know you. I have this good feeling," Sam smiled. "Like everything's going to work out, if we let it."
"You don't know that, man."
"Call it a gut feeling. I can't really explain, but I honestly believe it."
Nancy came back right about then, empty handed. "Sorry, boys. We're out of pie. Can I get you anything else? Maybe chocolate cake?"
Well, that settled that. Pushing down a sick lurch in his stomach, Dean threw down a few twenties and stood.
"Nah, we're good here," he told her. "Keep the change."
Sam followed him out.