Smokin' Holes Where My Memories Used to Be 1/4--SPN fic

[borgmama1of5]

Title: Smokin' Holes Where my Memories Used To Be Author: borgmama1of5
Wordcount: 18,600
Rating: PG13
Genre/pairing: gen
Spoilers: through 4.11
Beta: sandymg
Artist: quickreaver
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean and the rest of Supernatural do not belong to me. They would know how to talk to each other if they did…

Summary: November 2008. With Ruby's help, Sam and Dean have just manipulated the angels and demons to allow Anna to escape. Now Bobby has sent them to check on another set of omens in Chicago--only this time the trap is for them.

One brother wakes up in a warehouse with mutilated bodies--the other wakes up in a hospital ER--and neither has any memory of being a Winchester. Without any recollection of their own names, much less having a brother, how will they reconnect? And will Ruby help or hinder?

Author’s Thanks: To sandymgfor her excellent beta and even more importantly, unflagging encouragement! To quickreaverfor the most amazing art-I never dreamed my words could inspire something like these pictures! And to reapertownusafor all the effort coordinating this big bang project!




Smokin' Holes Where my Memories Used To Be

Title quote from Ken Kesey

Takes place between between 4.11 ‘Heaven and Hell’ and 4.12 ‘Family Remains.’

***

He wasn't sure how long he had been staring at the bloody fingernails. At the hand, palm up, fingers slightly curled, just resting in front of his eyes. Dirt and brown crust under the nails, across the knuckles …

He was lying on concrete. His head hurt, protested spitefully as he rotated it to look from the hand to the ceiling. He rolled to his side and the rest of his body joined the misery. Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe shallowly until the urge to vomit was under control.

Getting to his hands and knees seemed to be easier than trying for a sitting position. And now he could see more of the body that belonged to the battered fingers.

The rest of the man matched the condition of his hand, plainly the recipient of a brutal beating. Still breathing though - chest rising and falling, air huffing out through bruised lips.

He looked at his own hands and yes, they were also red and raw and tender. He sank back on his heels, not wanting to touch the other body until he knew what had happened.

Grasping the edge of a metal shelf, he pulled himself to his feet. Wavered, fought to stay upright. He used the framework to shuffle himself toward the open space at the end of the row. His foot kicked something small that jingled on the cement floor. Very carefully he bent down to scoop up a car key.

His thoughts were connecting with pitiful slowness. ‘Warehouse’ came to him as he saw squat steel cylinders scattered on the wall units opposite him. When he reached the end of the shelves he leaned against them for support while he surveyed the carnage in the main room.

Multiple bodies lay crumpled across the floor.

He was pretty sure the ones with gaping holes in their chests were dead. Then wondered at the odd thought that a caved-in chest didn’t guarantee deadness.

“Sam! What the hell did you …” The fury of the petite woman barreling through the door died when she saw the human wreckage.

“Damn!” she breathed, staring as though something was wrong with him. Which actually was true.

“Who are you?” He asked the first thing that came to mind, and the act of speaking caused more questions to explode from him. “Do you know who I am? Who these people are? What happened?”

The woman got very still. Her intense brown eyes stared at him as she chewed on her lower lip.

“What do you remember?” Even though she was motionless, there was a nervous energy radiating from her that screamed ‘get out of here.’ The calmness of her voice countered that, however. She was speaking like someone trying to lure a stray dog to come with them.

“Nothing.” He didn’t know whether to trust her or not … but the answer burst out before he could stop himself.

“Okay, we need to get out of here now. I don’t know what you were doing here but fuck, something bad went down. And it’s a really bad idea to stand around waiting for an encore. Let’s go, Sam.”

“What about these …” He Sam gestured at the bodies on the floor.

Her quick glance dismissed them.

“You know any of them?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither. So let’s go.” She started out the door.

“Wait, there’s one still alive …”

“He was probably trying to kill you just like the rest. No time now - do you have the car key?”

He reached in his pocket for the key he’d kicked. It was on a keychain with a Chevrolet logo.

“I found this …”

It was snatched from his hand.

“I’ll drive. I don’t think you should right now.”

He hesitated before following the woman out of the warehouse. The other man … he thought about going back for him, but the sea of corpses was daunting, and made him think the woman was right ...

“Come on, Sam!”

He hesitated, then followed out the door into an icy blast of cold that caused a bone-deep shiver. His legs wobbled as he stepped carefully over crusted piles of dirty, frozen snow, trailing his rescuer’s unswerving path to the side of a classic black Impala.

As he slid into the passenger seat he picked up a motel key on the front seat for room one-twelve at the Esquire Motel.

The woman’s chin barely cleared the steering wheel and it would have been comical but for the fact that everything seemed so wrong. “Goddamn phallic symbol!” she muttered as she pulled away from the curb, not bothering to signal.

“Did you check out of the motel?” she blurted suddenly into the silence.

“I, uh, don’t know.”

“What do you know? Asshole!” She pounded the horn as a taxi cut in front of her.

He considered. “You called me ‘Sam.’ I found the key to this car. And I woke up in a building full of very dead bodies. That’s it.” He studied the driver again. “Who are you?”

“Holy fuck, this is screwed up, Sam. You don’t remember why you went to that warehouse? Or … if anybody went with you?”

“No. Nothing.”

“I’m Ruby. Ring any bells?” She glanced at him and his obvious non-reaction made it clear that it didn’t.

“I’m your … partner, so to speak.”

“As in ‘significant other?’” He searched for a feeling of attachment to her. Her manner seemed familiar, and he could imagine that he knew her, but …

She practically choked. “You really don’t remember anything. Shit.” She floored the gas and sped through a light turning red. “We need to get out of sight. But we gotta clear out the motel room before we find someplace to lay low away from here.”

Forty-five minutes later she pulled into the motel parking lot. When he had gotten a view of the city skyline he’d known it was Chicago. And he was spooked by the conviction that nothing good ever happened in Chicago.

“I’ll just grab the stuff, you stay here, and we’ll find a safer place to crash.”

“No, I’m coming in.” He wanted to see if anything in the room would remind him of who he was. Trigger some memories.

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged and left him to labor out of the passenger seat on his own.

There were two duffle bags already packed, one atop each of the thin bedspreads. He poked through one. Jeans, shirts, two knives. Men’s clothes, so he figured this was his bag. A closed laptop sat on the flimsy desk. Nothing was familiar. Ruby was quickly slamming through every drawer.

“Check the bathroom,” she ordered.

He stopped when he saw his face in the vanity mirror. Blood matted the hair above his left temple, abrasions on his cheeks testified that he’d been on the receiving end of several punches. And there was an irregular oval that looked almost like a burn mark centered on his forehead. He winced as he reached for a washcloth to wipe the blood away, and guessed that his ribs were similarly decorated.

“Are you done … Oh, hell, you can clean yourself up later! Come on, Sam.”

With a grip that belied her diminutive stature, Ruby grabbed the second duffel and pulled him from the room.

***

Carrie heard the moan and knew he had regained consciousness. He was struggling to sit up as she entered.

“Hey, hey, there, take it easy!”

“W’m I?”

“You’re in the ER at Stroger Hospital. It looks like you were mugged-the cops found you lying in an alley.”

“Mmm …”

“Don’t try to talk, just relax while I take care of you.”

Although her shift had ended fifteen minutes ago, Carrie had decided to stay until ‘John Doe’ regained consciousness. Now she pulled a washcloth from the cabinet and moistened it at the small sink, then stepped over to the man and began wiping the rest of the blood from his face. His green eyes were staring at her like she was a mystery. She figured he was still confused from being out of it for nearly six hours. The MRI and X-ray had ruled out head trauma as the reason for his unconsciousness, and since his vital signs were okay he’d been parked in a cubicle while the ER dealt with three car crash victims, a teenager who’d been shot in a drive-by, and a girl who’d overdosed on some street shit. Various staff members had checked on him periodically. Carrie was actually glad he’d waited until she was free to wake up.

He winced at her ministrations but made no noise.

“Sorry, I know it stings. We’ve been really busy tonight, though, and no one had time to clean you up before now.”

She didn’t expect him to respond.

“ ‘S’all right.”

“So, what’s your name? You didn’t have a wallet when the ambulance brought you in, so we’ve got you listed as John Doe. If you give me the info on who to call we’ll let your family know where you are.”

Carrie was completely floored by the reaction her question got - the man’s eyes filled with panic and he grabbed her wrist in a steel grip.

“Don’ know … don’ know …”

“Hey, it’s okay!”

“Can’t remember …”

He was clenching her wrist hard enough to hurt. “You need to relax, all right? It’s probably just temporary amnesia and it’ll all come back to you in a little while. And if it doesn’t, when the cops come back they can run a check, maybe your family filed a missing persons report, okay?”

He abruptly dropped her wrist but the fear didn’t leave his eyes. With the blood gone, the bruises on his pale skin were vividly purple.

“I’m going to see if there’s a policeman free who can come talk to you, okay?”

It was the oddest thing, like a door shut and his face carefully composed, no trace of anxiety now.

“Sure.” The husky voice was steady.

It took about twenty minutes for Officer Zadwicki to finish with his report on the shooting victim, then Carrie filled him in on the mystery patient. She pulled back the curtain on the cubicle.

The bed was empty. The I.V. needle was leaving a damp spot on the sheet.

***

Fuck, it was cold! John Doe crossed his arms and tucked his hands in his armpits. Every inch of his body ached liked someone'd beat the crap out of him.

And if he focused on how physically miserable he was, he could push away the terrifying drumming of who am I? where am I? what do I do? that was pounding in rhythm with his accelerating heartbeat. Not to mention the terrifying fact that the only thing he knew for certain was no cops.

Unable to think of anything else to do, he started walking.

***

Ruby was all for getting out of the state and pulled on to the I90 ramp, claiming that without his memory, Sam was a too-vulnerable target.

“For what?”

“For whatever took out everyone else in that warehouse!”

“But what? I need to know who’s after me … why someone would be trying to kill me!”

“Trust me, it’s a complicated story and I’ll tell you all of it, but we have to get off the radar first!”

“We’re not leaving the area.”

“Sam -“

He … they … shouldn’t leave. Besides, he knew where they could hide. He had no idea how he knew, he just did. “There’s a section of abandoned houses by the airport. Go there.”

Ruby looked at him strangely, but didn’t argue. She took the highway exit by the airport sign and slowed down to merge with street traffic.

“Now where?”

“Pull into that Starbucks.”

“This isn’t a good time to stop for coffee, Sam, I - ”

He cut off her tirade. “There’s free Wi-Fi. I can check my laptop. So shut up and let me do this. Stay in the car if you want, I won’t be long.”

She huffed at him, but got out when he did.

He grabbed the table in the back corner and flipped open his computer.

Without thinking, he let his fingers move over the keyboard and, as he’d hoped, motor memory typed in the passwords. His random insight had been correct - in advance of airport expansion, a two-mile square of the suburb of Bensenville was slated for demolition and the homeowners had all been moved out. There’d be plenty of options for a place to lie low.

About to shut the laptop down, an idea occurred to him, and he clicked on the browser’s cache to see what his last search had been.

Nephilim?

Ruby set a coffee down on the table with enough force to propel several drops up through the vent in the lid. “Let’s go, Sam. You’re a fucking bullseye out here.”

It was entirely too easy to flow along with her paranoia, as his own pulse was beating an urgent message that he was missing something important. He wasn’t going to remember it in the middle of a bustling coffee shop, however, so he silently followed Ruby back to the car.

It was a short drive to the condemned area, and it was easy enough to move the sawhorse blocking the entrance, replace it after Ruby drove in, and slide back into the car. Fortunately there were other tire marks carved in the unplowed street to hide their passage.

The back of his neck prickled as they passed rows of 1950s ranch houses in the dusk, windows boarded and two-by-fours nailed across the doors, no cars in the driveways, none of the usual clutter of life on the snowy lawns. No sidewalks had been shoveled. Blank, melancholy windows from the second level of the occasional two-story home added to the forsaken aura.

“The utilities will be turned off, so look for one with a fireplace chimney,” he ordered, and when Ruby swerved into a driveway bordered by a toppled stack of firewood, he said, “Pull around the back so no one sees the car.” Tire tracks couldn’t be helped, but in the dark they would likely be overlooked.

“I was going to!” Ruby snapped.

It took only a moment to pry away the wood barricading the back door and enter the frigid kitchen. He shone the flashlight over the bare walls, noting the darker rectangles where pictures had hung. There was nothing in any of the rooms, not even the trash usually found in abandoned houses. The last occupant had left it clean enough for another tenant, even though there wouldn’t ever be one.

With a jolt he realized this wasn’t the first time he’d slept on the floor in the cold.

On autopilot, he started a fire after he’d brought in some logs. Ruby had rummaged in the car and dumped two blankets and some bags of chips on the living room floor, then handed him a beer from the trunk that was cold enough to give the impression of having been refrigerated.

“We could be in a warm motel with a nice mattress, Sam.”

“You’re the one who was concerned about staying unnoticed.”

Ruby didn’t say anything more, just slid down the wall opposite him and took a long pull of beer.

“What’s my full name?”

She gave a little cough, like the abruptness of his question had sent some liquid down the wrong way.

“You’re Sam - Samuel - Winchester.”

“What is a Nephilim?”

This time Ruby spit out some beer as she choked. “What the - why the hell would you ask that?”

He simply loomed over her, wordlessly waiting for the answer.

“Okay, I was gonna try and give it to you gentle, but if you want to start at full speed, fine. Nephilim are the offspring of angels and humans. Human females, to be precise.”

He just stared at her until she continued.

“You really want ‘This is Your Life, Sam Winchester?’” His eyes didn’t waver from her face. “Okay, fine! The condensed version is that your mother was killed by the demon Azazel when you were a baby. Your father went after it, and everything else too: werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, all those monsters that people don’t think exist. And he dragged you and your brother with him and taught you how to be a hunter.”

She stood up, moved closer to the fire.

“Your dad died close to three years ago, demon, but your brother offed Azazel, and then the demon Lilith took him down to Hell. We’ve been looking for Lilith since.”

Two questions fought to be expressed simultaneously. “I had a brother? Where do Nephilim fit in?”

Ruby hesitated, answered the second one. “The whole reason Lilith is here, now, is to free Lucifer and jumpstart the Apocalypse. Killing her would stop that. But the Nephilim, they would be in favor of Lucifer coming back, since he’s like, their … uncle, I guess. The angels have nothing to do with the Nephilim, they were banished from Heaven as abominations. Most of ‘em were taken out by the Flood, back in biblical times.

“But there’s some left. And my guess is you went to that warehouse for them.” She pushed a hand through her hair angrily. “But since you fucking went off half-cocked without telling me what you were doing, you just about got yourself killed. Which is just peachy. ‘Cause if you go down, well, there’s nothing to stop Lilith and Lucifer then.”

Her voice gentled and she walked back to him, put a hand on his arm. “I know it’s hard for you to trust other people, Sam. But you gotta trust me, I got your back.”

A cold shiver travelled down Sam’s spine. The words were right, but the voice saying them was the wrong one.

***

William noticed the man first.

“Momma, why is that man shaking?”

Sharon was concentrating on the logistics of navigating a two-year-old, a five-year-old, and a plastic bag of groceries over the frozen snow ruts in the parking lot, and William’s question didn’t make sense.

“What, honey?”

“Momma, that man. I think he’s cold.”

Sharon shot a quick look in the direction William was pointing. This solidly middle-class Chicago neighborhood rarely collected random loiterers, but the man huddled by the light pole certainly didn’t fit in. Homeless, probably.

“Samantha, honey, hold Mommy’s hand till we get to the car. William, stay with me, now.”

“I think something’s wrong with that man, Momma.”

Her daughter’s hand secure for a moment, Sharon spared another glance and involuntarily winced at the man’s wicked shudders. He must have been out in this cold a while … or he was drunk or something, the uncharitable thought crossed her mind. He was young, probably around her age, thirty-something … hands stuffed in the pockets of a canvas jacket, chin tucked into its turned-up collar, no hat … It had been below freezing for the last three days.

Car door open, Samantha and groceries were hefted into the back seat.

“Come on, William, in the car now.”

William clambered in but his face was still staring at the stranger.

“Momma, I think he needs help.”

Sharon heaved a mental sigh. No one ever warned about her about the “good example” ramifications of having kids. Had she been alone she could have driven out of the lot without a thought, maybe not have even noticed the guy. But William had. And William didn’t understand the world was hard and cold and not fair and some people suffered. He’d learn it soon enough. But he didn’t have to learn it today, and he wasn’t going to learn it from his mother. Although she was damned if she knew what to do for the stranger that would set her son’s mind at ease. And not put them at risk from some crazy.

Samantha buckled in, Sharon leaned over the second car seat. Maybe she could just give the guy a few dollars, and that would satisfy William … and her conscience. Or maybe she should ask William.

“What do you think he needs, William?”

“He’s cold, Momma. I think he needs a hat.”

Sharon smiled. Out of the mouths of babes … She sighed at the thought of trudging back through the snow, but she knew she was going to set the example for her kids of how the world should be, even if it usually wasn’t.

“Okay, William, how about we go back in the store and buy a hat for the man?”

William looked so relieved that Sharon knew she’d made the right decision. Since she wasn’t carrying the grocery bag, she carried Samantha back to the store and popped her back in the seat of the cart, then headed to the aisle of seasonal goods.

William picked a navy knit cap with a Chicago Bears logo, identical to the one his dad wore. Then he looked at the gloves.

“Momma?”

“Go ahead.” Might as well do it right. There was a bin of fleece scarves on sale at the end of the row. “Do you want to get him a scarf, too?”

“Oh, yes!”

William was in favor of the red one with cartoon penguins, but when Sharon suggested the plain blue would match the hat better, William agreed that would look nice.

The Starbucks kiosk was right next to the door. Sharon stopped and ordered a large coffee, cream and sugar on the side, and a blueberry muffin. Might as well do it right. Then with Samantha perched on her hip holding the Starbucks bag, Sharon secured the hot coffee in her free hand. As William carried the bag of warm gear, the three of them made their way through the lot to where the man was miserably blowing on his hands.

He looked up as she approached but kept trying to warm his hands. His knuckles were scraped, fingers grimy. His unshaven chin was marred with bruises and there was a nasty mark on his forehead. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea …

“Hi …” Her breath caught when she saw his eyes. Haunted and … vulnerable, until William said “Hello,” and held out his bag.

“My name is William, this is my sister Sammy, and this is my mom. We brought you some stuff,” William said solemnly.

The man looked at Samantha with the strangest expression, startled and then frantic. His eyes darted past her and the children, sweeping the storefront and parking lot, searching. Finally panicky eyes locked back on hers.

“I don’ ...” The stranger must have seen Sharon’s anxiety at his behavior because he tried to bring himself back under control. “ ‘S’okay.” The man closed his eyes briefly, and then crouched down before William.

“Thank you.” His voice was gravelly.

William pulled the bounty from his bag. “This is a Bears hat. They used to be the best football team and my dad says maybe next year they’ll be good again. And this is a blue scarf. I liked the penguin one better but this one matches the hat. And here.” William handed over the gloves.

“And here’s some coffee.” Sharon held out her contribution.

It was a moment’s work for the tags to be pulled off and the hat pulled over the dirty, spiky hair, the scarf wrapped around his neck. The gloves, however, he tucked under his elbow as he rose and cupped his hands around the hot cup Sharon handed him.

“There’s sugar and cream and a muffin in the bag. Sammy, give it to Mister …”

He jerked his head again at the name but then hid his reaction in a long drink of the scalding liquid.

“This is fine. Thank you, really … I …” He trailed off.

“Is there something else you need?” Sharon had no idea why she asked that, she wasn’t going to get more involved.

A headshake. “ ’Preciate this, ma’am.”

“Well. Good luck.” That was inane. But she did hope he’d be okay. She thought of one more thing, and lowered her daughter to stand beside her. “Just stand there a minute, Sammy.”

William must have seen something in the intense stare the man was giving Samantha. “Do you have a sister, too?”

The man took another mouthful of coffee before answering, and Sharon could hardly hear what he said.

“Don’ … think so …”

She folded up the ten-dollar bill she pulled from her wallet, then picked up Samantha again before offering it out.

“Here. There’s a shelter on Western Avenue, maybe you can take a bus there.” She looked away so as not see the embarrassed gratitude. “Come on, William, we have to get home.”

***

A fucking homeless shelter. He was angry at the pathetic flash of gratefulness he’d felt at the woman’s words.

But he didn’t have any better ideas and freezing to death didn’t seem like a good option.

As he stumbled toward the bus stop, he clawed at the gray fuzziness in his mind, trying to get to his memories.

He would swear there was a Sammy in them.

***

Sam sat crossed-legged before the fireplace. Waiting, but he wasn’t sure for what. Replaying the particulars of the mind-boggling story Ruby had told him, about monsters and demons, and how it was his destiny to stop the Apocalypse from happening.

A normal person would have fled in horror at her lunatic raving. But, God help him, her bizarre story felt … right. Like something in his head nodded in agreement as she’d explained about the sixty-six seals that the demons were breaking. And how he had to stop Lilith from raising the Devil himself.

Either he was, indeed, a mythic figure laboring to stave off the end of the world … or they were psychotically co-dependent nutjobs.

He wasn’t sure which was the better choice.

“You’re not sleeping.”

“Gonna have to get more firewood in a little bit.” Being toasted on one side and icy on the other felt familiar.

“ ‘S really cold in here.”

Ruby scooted over from where she’d been lying on the floor and nestled under his arm, tucking the top of her head under his chin.

“I really hate being cold, Sam. Even more than I hate being hungry.”

“Tell me about my brother.”

Ruby shifted restlessly. “Whaddya want t’ know?”

“What was his name?”

“Dean.” A pause. “He was your older brother.”

Dean. He rolled the name around in his mind, trying to find a connection to it.

“Did we get along?”

Ruby bit her lip before answering, “Hell, I don’t know, Sam. You bitched each other out and saved each others’ lives equally. He didn’t like me, so I didn’t hang with you much when he was around.”

He wiggled the word ‘brother’ around his mind like a kid worrying a loose tooth, but no image formed. The effort to force any of his unconscious knowledge into awareness just made his brain buzz uncomfortably with cloudiness.

He rubbed between his eyes. Ruby was still curled against him. She claimed they weren’t partners in that way, but … he sensed past intimacy. Some things you just knew.

He wondered fleetingly why his brother and Ruby hadn’t gotten along but then went with the more pertinent inquiry. “Tell me more about the Nephilim.”

“You know, Sam, it’s not like I have any firsthand knowledge.”

“So tell me the fairytale version.”

“Lucifer fell from heaven, tempted Eve, yadda-yadda-yadda. A contingent of angels led by Shemhazai came to earth to instruct humans in righteous behavior. After a few centuries of thankless teaching, the angels became consumed with lust for human women. The babies that resulted were the Nephilim.

“The angels taught the mothers dark magic, and the knowledge was passed on to the children.”

“So they’re half-breeds.”

“Yeah. And not with the best qualities from either set of genes, if you get what I mean.”

The spot between his eyes was pounding in counterpoint to his pulse and he pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to silence it.

Ruby’s sharp tone softened when she saw the movement. “Headache, Sam? Let me help.”

She pulled away from his side and moved behind him, keeping her blanket firmly around her shoulders. But she pulled his blanket down enough to work her hands under the collar of his flannel shirt and began to knead her thumbs against the base of his skull. He couldn’t stop the little grunt this evoked.

“Shit, this feels like steel cable. Anyway, that’s about all the lore about the Nephilim, except they’re supposed to be physically huge, probably the origin of stories about giants, and they’re ruthless and hate humans. Which is true for just about everything you go after.”

For a moment he was elsewhere, sitting at a small brown desk, staring at a computer screen while slender fingers massaged his neck. Blonde curls tickled his cheek as a gentle voice murmured in his ear, “Come to bed, Sam. You won’t get any more written tonight.”

Staring at his scraped knuckles as firelight quivered around the chilly room, frustration at the fucking blind spot in his memories made him jerk away from Ruby’s too-comfortable touch. He didn’t have the right to relax, not when … not when what?

His blanket fell off as he abruptly rose and walked to the door. “Getting more wood.” He felt Ruby’s stare as he left the room.

***

Part 2: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/63989.html
Part 3: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/64252.html
Part 4: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/64349.html