Smokin' Holes Where My Memories Used to Be 4/4--SPN fic
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 sandymg for her excellent beta and even more importantly, unflagging encouragement! To quickreaver for the most amazing art-I never dreamed my words could inspire something like these pictures! And to reapertownusa for 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.’
Part 1: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/63528.html
Part 2: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/63989.html
Part 3: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/64252.html
***
He forced himself to look away from Sam, to stare out the windshield as Sam dialed. A white-hot poker had seared his brain at the cascade of Sams he’d seen when he’d looked over at his brother, and yet the relief of knowing those memories were still there almost offset the ripping in his head. He unclenched his fingers, forced himself to breathe carefully.
“Hi, Bobby, what can you tell us about the Nephilim? I just couldn’t talk right then ... His phone’s … not working … Sorry. Right, we think we found the ritual site, but we think it’s already happened and … oh.” Dean could hear the voice giving Sam a complicated explanation, even though he couldn’t understand the words.
Sam made a couple noises of acknowledgment, then asked carefully, “So mind control could be something it could do, huh?” More sounds from the phone. “What have you found out about killing it, Bobby?” Another “Oh.” Then, “Yeah, everything’s … fine. Sure, we’ll be careful. Thanks, Bobby.”
He turned to look at Sam again, and the stabbing pain ratcheted up immediately. “Can’t look at you, Sam,” he mumbled.
Silence for a moment before Sam said, “Ditto. I think it’s being here, in this car, this must be something we do a lot.”
“So what did you learn about the fucker we’re up against?”
“Apparently Goliath was a Nephilim.”
“As in David-and-Goliath?”
“Yeah.”
“So we need a slingshot?”
Sam snorted. “Bobby couldn’t find anything concrete on how to kill one. The summoning ritual is straightforward once you know its name. He had three possible candidates for who it might be. But from what he did say, I’m pretty sure that’s what’s screwed up our minds. As if spending our lives hunting monsters no one else believes in isn’t screwy enough.”
“Does he know who summoned it … or why?”
“Another player for the side of the Apocalypse - does it matter?”
Dean drove as they talked through their weapon options. He found that focusing on the tools of the trade lessened the throbbing in his head, as long as he kept his eyes averted from the passenger seat. When he pulled over for gas, Sam said he wanted to get something to drink from inside.
When Sam returned he tossed a cellophane pack at Dean. A bag of cherry Twizzlers.
“You like those, right?” Sam’s voice rose in a question. “I, uh, dunno, just saw ‘em and …”
“They’re good.” Dean figured from the violent jolt in his head that this was another bit of routine for them.
It was snowing by the time they reached the abandoned Polk Brothers’ building, dry crystalline flakes from frosty gray clouds. Dean shivered at the iciness trickling down his collar as he and Sam stared into the trunk. Sam searched through several containers for specific dried herbs and some chalk while Dean loaded two automatics with silver bullets. He grabbed lighter fluid and a lighter as well, and watched Sam tuck a knife in his belt.
He slammed the trunk, and they headed into the building.
“Bobby said to look for any marks from the ritual, that the name would have been written in them.”
The dim light filtering in through the windows that edged the ceiling did not sufficiently illuminate the empty expanse, so Dean angled his flashlight over the floor. He crouched down to look at the faint blue mark by the foot of one of the bodies.
“I’m thinking whatever these dudes summoned wasn’t too happy and turned ‘em into corpsicles for their trouble.” He looked around the next body for more of the pattern, and noticed yellow powder residue around the gaping hole in the chest.
He touched it with a fingertip, smelled it.
“Sulphur, Sam.”
Standing in the center of the half-circle formed by the desecrated bodies, Sam was scowling in concentration.
“So. Demons called a half-angel. Great.”
“Strange bedfellows?” Dean began to re-trace the lines with fresh chalk.
“Since the demons are all dead, I’d say the Nephilim wasn’t thrilled with the partnership.” Sam indicated a patch of ashes. “This must be the focal point. And this is where Bobby said the name would be.”
“So whose doorbell we ringing?”
Sam studied the writing. Finally he answered. “Zavebe.”
“Not gonna replace Goliath on the top ten bad guys’ names.”
Sam’s glare effectively conveyed his opinion.
The pattern Dean marked out was familiar, a few times his hand had wanted to make a different curve or add another line, but he made himself adhere to what was already set on the concrete.
Twice he had to drag the frozen bodies out of the way. That would have been a lot more unpleasant if the temperature had been above freezing, so he tried not to mind the cold.
Finished, he waited until Sam stepped away from the mound he’d created with the contents from the pouches.
“Once I light this, and write his name here,” Sam pointed to a bare patch in the design, “it shows up, and …” He looked at Dean uncertainly.
“We tell him to give us our memories back or we blow its head off.”
“We don’t know for sure just shooting it will kill it.”
“David took care of Goliath with a rock from a slingshot-a bullet from an automatic should have a lot more punch than that.”
Dean kept his eyes fastened on his brother even though it brought tears of pain to his eyes. He could see equal distress staring back at him, but Sam squared his shoulders and shook the hair from his eyes. For a split second he let him himself wonder at why he was doing this. Why not just walk away from the nearly literal hell that obviously was his, their lives. He glanced back at his brother and the doubt vanished.
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Dean positioned himself at right angles to Sam, automatic steady in both hands as he aimed above the pile of herbs.
Sam flipped a match into it, then stepped back and crouched to write out the name in chalk.
The entire warehouse filled with blackness that choked his breathing.
“Sam!”
“He -“
The concussion of the sound wave that boomed in the darkness knocked Dean to one knee. He struggled to keep his grip on the gun and stand again.
A flash of lightning dispelled the pitch and a figure stood in the center of the chalk marks.
It was fourteen fucking feet tall. Muscles tensed across a chest as broad as the grill of a semi.
“This … is unexpected.”
The deepness of the voice matched the size of the body. Dean angled the gun upward to line up a head shot.
“You should not be able to be within sight of each other.”
“And why would that be?” Sam challenged. Unfortunately the effect was that of a kindergartner mouthing off to the principal.
Black hair swirled around giant shoulders as icy blue eyes looked from one to the other.
“I did as demanded by the dungworms. Before I killed them.”
“You did something to our memories.” Dean chanced a look as Sam spoke, standing ramrod straight and recklessly determined even though way out of his weight class. That’s my brother. Instant agony spiked his head with the thought and he bit his tongue to stop from making noise.
“You are pieces in a chess game that began eons ago. Angels, demons, heaven, hell …They have nothing to do with me.” A snort. “I don’t care about esoteric games. Or you. But these parasites,” Zabeve waved at the bodies, “had the audacity to summon me and dictate I become involved.”
The anger on the face of the supersize creature was daunting, and Dean was absurdly relieved it wasn’t directed at him. “I was ordered to remove your common memories, to sever the history between you. Apparently killing you is reserved for another player in this byzantine plot.”
Dean had heard enough. “We ain’t fucking tools. Give us our memories back!”
“Are you sure you want them, Dean Winchester? You have no idea what a favor I did you. And you, Sam Winchester, there are things you don’t want your brother to remember about you … things you don’t want to remember about yourself.”
“Give them back!” They spoke simultaneously.
“As you wish.” The fierce grin that the creature turned at them was the only warning.
He did what Daddy said, now why doesn't Mommy come out of the house? She is going to get burned up! The fireman will get her ... Why is Daddy crying? Where is Mommy?
Why are we getting in the car without Mommy?
He misses Miss Brown, and Alexander and Ellie. This school smells funny. And nobody talks to him. Miss Lerner frowned at him when he said he didn't have any crayons. He doesn't want to tell her that Daddy forgot to put them in the car when they left the other place.
Daddy's face is bloody. It is scary and he doesn't like it. Daddy is just laying on the bed in his dirty clothes and he is getting blood all over the pillow. He wants to fix Daddy but he doesn't know how. Daddy? Wake up, Daddy?
Sammy can't know. He doesn't want Sammy to be scared about what's out there. Or be afraid that Dad will get hurt. He's the only one who should worry that Dad's been gone too long for a 'simple' ghost. How long can he keep people from seeing that there are only two kids here? What if Sam gets sick? What if he runs out of money? What if the rent is due before Dad gets back?
What if Dad doesn't come back?
They're fucking babies. No idea what he and his dad do for them. He's not a loser just because he doesn't play football and go to the prom ... He’s not a loser just because he’s never stayed in one school for more than six months since fifth grade … He doesn’t want some girl feeling sorry for him …
Sam's not in the room ... little bitch, Dean doesn't have to babysit him all the time now, Dean can have a little fun ... Sam better get back here soon, Dean's going to beat his ass when he comes back ... Sam shouldn't have been gone this long, he knows better ... Fucking shit, something's wrong, Sammy wouldn't stay away overnight ... He's got to be playing games with him, right? ... No one's seen Sammy since yesterday afternoon. Oh god, why did he leave his brother alone? He's gotta find him ...
"Dad, Sammy's gone." He's failed, failed his brother and his father. But Dad will come back and find Sam, right?
Two weeks. Dean can't eat, can't listen to music, can't breathe. Dad doesn't talk. Doesn't say, how the fuck did you let this happen, Dean? But Dean hears it anyway.
Sam fucking ran away. That was all. He hated living with him and Dad so much he didn't even think what it would do to them.
Why does Sam need to question everything Dad says? Why can’t he just trust him? And Dad, why can’t he just give Sam an answer? Why can’t they work together? Why is he always in the middle, always having to calm Sam down, always having to prod his Dad to ease up on his brother without Dad catching on? Could he have one fucking day where they don’t fight?
Blood, so much blood, Dad's, Sam's, his ... One of them could have died tonight ... Could still die if he doesn't clean the wounds and stitch them right ... Who does he fix first, Dad or Sam? He doubles over as the nausea hits and his ribs scream as he pukes and he’s gotta get up, gotta stop the blood …
“If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back!” No, no, no, don’t give Sam an ultimatum! How could Dad say that? Sam slams the door behind him, leaving Dean without a second thought … How could Sam just leave him like that?
“If you can’t save your brother, you’ll have to kill him” whispered in his ear …
Sam’s dead weight in his arms, collapsing into the mud of a forsaken ghost town …
The horror and despair in Sam’s eyes as Dean gulps his last breath and the Hellhounds shred him …
“You’re weak … you’re pitiful, all you ever were was Dad’s incompetent tool …” Trying to hold on to the knowledge that those are Alastair’s verbal barbs coming from the thing that is wearing his brother’s face as skin is delicately stripped from muscle, nerves peeled from veins, organs and limbs wrenched from his body, over and over with excruciating thoroughness…
“Do you want to get down off the rack?”
God forgive him, except there isn’t a god, is there? as he takes the razor from Alastair’s hand and leans over the pleading woman and bisects her torso with the blade and then reaches his bare hand inside her guts and enjoys the sensation of the warm fluid gushing out of her while Alastair purrs approval …
Knowing that Sam is lying to him, doesn’t see what he is doing is wrong, that Sam would rather believe that demon bitch instead of him …
“If I didn’t know you … I would wanna hunt you” hurled in anger at his brother’s face …
Dean collapsed to his knees, vomiting, gun dropped uselessly to the floor. This. This was what he’d forgotten.
He wanted the creature to take them all away again.
***
Fear. Will Dad be okay? What if something happens to Dean? What will happen to Sam if they don’t come back? So much blood, how can Dad, how can Dean bleed so much and still be alive?
Resentment. Why doesn’t Dean care that they can never stay in one place, never make friends, never finish anything? Why does he always think their father is right when anyone can see how warped their lives are? Why can’t they see Sam can do more with his life than being a hunter?
Anger. Dean doesn’t say a word to stop John, defend Sam - so he does walk out that door and vows to never come back and damn Dean to hell for letting him go …
Loneliness. Not believing that his family - his brother - would just write him out of their lives. But the cold, hard fact is they haven’t tried to contact him since that day … He is completely alone now …
Dread. Dean coming to him after four years, Sam can’t let his brother destroy the world he’d so painstakingly made for himself …
Agony. Dean pulling him out of the burning bedroom, making him leave Jess there …
Grief. Blood bubbles from the gashes left by the Hellhounds. Sam cradles the limp body … and he buries a corpse in a pine box because he let Dean down, he couldn’t figure a way to break Dean’s deal … the deal he made because Sam screwed up at Cold Oak …
Obsession. He will avenge his brother no matter what it requires of him, even if it means working with a demon, even if it damns his own soul …
Pride. He is stronger than Dean now, Dean is too damaged to face Lilith and he doesn't understand. He still thinks of Sam as his little brother. But he's always been more. And Ruby's blood makes him stronger than Dean can realize, invincible, and Dean is foolish to try to stop him ...
Rage. Dean’s words burn - “Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human? If I didn't know you ... I would wanna hunt you.” How dare his brother judge him when Sam is going to save the world!
Shame. That’s what he is to Dean now, a monster.
Hands pressed to his temples, muttering, “No - no - no,” Sam fell.
“You asked for them back. I warned you.”
Sam felt the vibration of heavy footsteps, knew they stopped beside him.
“The ability to influence the minds of lesser creatures is inherited from our fathers. And now that you have all your fondest memories of your family, your brother, back, well, it should be comforting to have them replay for you constantly. For you to know, Sam Winchester, what a waste your entire life has been. And what an abomination you are to your brother just by existing.”
The Nephilim moved away, toward Dean. Sam could hear his brother mumbling no no no. “I wonder how long you two will last before you kill yourselves - or each other - to make your memories go away again. Alas, I have other things to do, I will not be able to stay and watch. Although if I was going to predict, I expect you will break first, Dean Winchester. The fractures from your time in Hell are so weak, it won’t take much. Just a little push … I’m sure your brother can see to that.”
“You … son … of … a … bitch …”
“Please, it’s nothing personal … but breaking the chess pieces will certainly send the message to leave me and mine alone. Enjoy the reunion, boys.” The venomous voice began to chant, heavy foreign words that siphoned air from the room.
Sam whimpered, he needed to stop the creature from leaving, but he had no strength to reach for his weapon.
He was going to drown in the bitter weight of his life.
Just as the Nephilim gathered the final bit of power, a gunshot shattered the air.
Uncontrolled energy exploded and Sam’s mind caved under a rush of images he couldn’t even begin to sort as his brain shut down.
***
“Sam! Sam!”
Harsh tremors ran from his shoulder down his arm.
“Sam! You gotta pull out of it!”
Someone was shaking him. Eyes. Maybe he could open them and see who was bothering him. Except. He had to remember how to make his eyes work. Maybe he could make his mouth work instead, tell the voice to go away.
“Dean needs you!”
The name ran through him like an electric shock. He shuddered, gasped, and suddenly he was looking at a blurry face looming over him.
He couldn’t form words, just make incoherent noises. His heart was thudding through his ribs and he didn’t know why.
Only. Dean needed him.
The muscle coordination to sit up wasn’t happening yet. A slight hand slid under his upper back.
“On three. One, two …”
He clutched the shoulders of the dark-eyed girl before him.
“Ru-by?”
“You can thank me for saving your ass when we get out of here. This is not someplace we want to have a happy reunion. I need your help with Dean, he’s still out cold. He musta really gotten whammied.”
“ ‘Kay. H-elp m’ up.”
***
Bobby’s source had said something not-so-kosher was going down in Chicago. Déjà vu all over again. The helpfulness of the demon they’d interrogated upon arriving should have clued Dean that it was a trap, but he was distracted about what he’d finally admitted to Sam about Hell. About what he’d done. Not that it mattered much. Sam was still busy doing his own thing.
Their cautious entry into the warehouse was futile, they were jumped immediately. And while they put up a good fight, ten-to-two odds were too much when the ten were demons.
“Sam! Lo -“ A fist smashed his mouth and Dean tasted blood. He managed two quick punches before his arms were pinioned behind him. He could hear Sam grunt as his attackers landed blows, heard “Son of a bitch!” explode from one of them - Go Sam! - then the nauseating sound of a solid object hitting a skull and the vicious “That’ll stop ‘im! Hold him now!” that said Sam had lost his fight, too.
“Sam!” Dean tried to wrestle out of the hands bruising his arms and got a brutal slap for his efforts.
“Hello, Dean. Call me … Nathan.”
No surprise the demon knew his name. Dean was pretty sure every demon in Hell had been given a shot at him - or by him.
“You got business with me, fine. Leave my brother out of it.”
“Sorry, Dean, no can do. We’ve arranged a present for the both of you. Bring ‘em over.”
Struggling only resulted in Dean getting kidney-punched, but even as he tried to pull away from his captors his eyes were fastened on Sam being limply dragged by four demons across the floor. He vainly willed his brother to lift his hanging head, flex his dangling arms, but there was no reaction as he was pulled over to a pattern marked on the floor.
“You two,” the bastard running the show gestured, “continue to be a pain in the ass, with your damned loyalty always making you come up with a way around what’s supposed to happen, your stupid stubbornness makes you frustratingly unpredictable. So we’re going to fix that. We’re calling on a - friend isn’t exactly the right word, more of a professional acquaintance, to make a little adjustment in your heads. Give you a new perspective on things, so to speak.”
Raising his voice in a guttural chant, Nathan ignited a pile of leaves in the center of the design. The warehouse walls disappeared in inky blackness broken by a thunderclap that left his ears ringing.
“Who dares to summon Zabeve!”
The giant in the middle of the room - pretty clearly Bobby’s Nephilim - was not happy. Dean could have told the demons they were in over their heads but he was sure they wouldn’t have listened. So he concentrated on watching Sam for any sign of regaining consciousness as Nathan arrogantly gave his orders to the powerful half-breed creature.
“Raise him up.” Zabeve apparently was going to go along with the plan, albeit sullenly. “Bring them both to me.”
Shit, that was not good. Dean had been counting on factional discord to buy them more time. He needed Sam awake for a chance to get out of this. His fight to avoid being yanked over the chalk lines earned him several more debilitating blows and he ended up eye-level with the monster’s crotch.
“Say good-bye to your brother.” A football-sized hand reached toward each of their faces.
“Son of a bitch!” Dean jerked his head as far as he could but the fingers coming at him were relentless and heart-numbingly cold as they touched his forehead. A violent rip tore through his entire body, more agonizing than Alastair’s meticulous removal of Dean’s internal organs through his mouth. He screamed.
The world vanished.
“Dean!”
Go away.
“Come on, man!”
This time he remembered to make his lips move. “G’way.”
“I’ll carry you if I need to … but you won’t like it.”
A freight train slammed into his brain and he gasped.
“Sam!” His hands reached for the voice blindly because his eyes didn’t work.
“I’m right here, Dean.” His arm was secured in a firm grip. “I got you, but we gotta move. Can you stand if I help you?”
The dim light didn’t help his focus, but he stared at the oval in front of him until it resolved into a face. Sam’s face.
And from the look of it, that threat to carry Dean out had been strictly for effect, Sam clearly needed just as much support as Dean did.
“Can you get him up?”
The impatient female voice came from the form moving around behind Sam.
He knew that voice.
Ruby.
Why the fuck was she here?
Oh. Sam had said he’d talked to her since it’d happened. Of fucking course. Even with amnesia Sam reached out to her.
Damned if she’d get to see just how much existing hurt right now.
“I c’n do it.”
Dean rolled onto his side, swallowed the queasiness from moving and carefully levered himself up.
Upright, he didn’t fight when Sam grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
Leaning on Sam as Dean limped to the Impala.
Sam keeping him from falling as he retched into a toilet.
Practically carrying him into an ER while Sam was bleeding himself from a bad hunt.
Holding him up when the doctors stopped trying to resuscitate their father.
“I’ve got you, Dean.”
After an eternity of emptiness, Sam was here with him right now.
He needed to hang tight to that.
***
Sam didn’t think either of them should be behind the wheel, but there was no way he’d let Ruby chauffer, so he guided Dean to shotgun and ignored his brother’s mumbled, “I can drive.”
Ruby followed them to the car, saying pointedly as Sam opened his door, “You’re welcome.” He hesitated. He didn’t know why Ruby lied about Dean while Sam’s memory was missing. Sam was pissed. Still unsure of how much she’d been playing him, Sam wanted to drive away without a word.
But she had just saved their lives. Again.
When Sam didn’t answer, Ruby scowled, “See you later, Sammy,” before jumping into the red Honda parked next to the Impala.
Sam was momentarily disoriented by déjà vu when he started the engine, empty months of being the driver with no one else in the car. But turning to look at the passenger seat and seeing Dean slumped to one side eased the flash of desolation.
Images of Dean bleeding, crying, sleeping, hurting … calling for Sam. Every failure, every save, he relived every time they picked each other up until his eyes stung.
Dean was here, Dean was back. And Sam wasn’t going to let anything take his brother away again. Even if he had to work with a lying demon to stop it.
Because this time, failure was not an option. Because the stakes with Lilith were too damn high.
Dean wouldn’t like it. Didn’t understand. But he would after Sam saved him.
The End