Hello Yesterday 14/?

Mar 21, 2015 18:11

Chapter 14

Back at Bobby's Sam ushered the others into the kitchen and when they sat more or less secure in the chairs he went to get water, washcloths and the first aid kit. They didn't protest, much, Dean may or may not have muttered "frigging Florence Nightingale" under his breath but Sam chose to ignore it.

"Are you okay, Sam?" Bobby asked with earnest concern in his voice. When they'd come back to Dean the fight had been over so Bobby didn't know what exactly had happened before that. He couldn't know if Sam was injured as well.
"I'm fine." Sam assured him and even managed a smile. "I'll fix you guys up real quick."

The good thing about this was that he went into autopilot. He didn't need to think about this, didn't need to search for non-existing memories, to get this task done. And he was way calmer than he would have ever expected after an event like their encounter with Gordon.

At this point he hadn't really comprehended that Gordon was gone, that they had rescued Bobby and that Dean wasn't dead. That Sam himself hadn't died either was a bonus he only realized with a delay.

Sam had the suspicion that there was a freak-out in his near future so he hurried to patch up Dean and Bobby while his hands were still steady enough.

"I have to wash off the blood." He told Bobby, gently tapping the wet washcloth over the crusted blood on the other man's head. He would only know for sure what the wound looked like when he could actually see it but so far he was confident that it needed only a stitch or two, maybe not even that, head wounds tend to bleed like a bitch. That thought came in a deep whiskey voice and he threw a side-glance at Dean, not sure if it had really been just a thought, memory, or if his brother had actually said something. But Dean was busy with washing off the blood from his own arm, apparently completely engrossed in that task. The gash looked nasty but Sam would have a look at that later, one patient at a time.

Sam huffed out a breath and pretended that he didn't notice the watchful eye his brother had on him.

"Better put a stitch in." He decided when he had free access to the wound on Bobby's head. It was bleeding sluggishly again but the cut wasn't big and more superficial than anything else but Sam wanted to make sure Bobby was alright.

So far the man had let him work without saying a word or even flinching while Sam had cleaned the wound but now Sam wondered if Bobby wanted him to do the stitching. Fiddling with the wet cloth Sam wasn't sure what to do.

"Your stitches were always better than Dean's." Bobby said with an amused glance at Dean before Sam could even suggest that maybe Dean should do it.

"At least I remember how to stitch somebody up." Dean muttered but that didn't seem to bother Bobby. Sam turned a little so Dean wouldn't notice the smile playing on his lips at Bobby's confidence in him.

"This is going to hurt." He informed Bobby and then pierced the needle through the skin. It was a good thing that the older man had thin hair, had even started to develop the first almost bald patches so Sam didn't have to shave the area. Not that he was ever going to tell Bobby that.

Bobby sucked in a breath at the pain but otherwise sat still and let Sam work.

"Okay, done." He wasn't sure if the one stitch had even be necessary but better safe than sorry. "You have quite a goose egg, let me get you some ice."

He got him ice, painkillers and water which Bobby accepted with his eyelids already dropping. He washed down the pill and then stood with the bag of ice pressed to the back of his head.

"I'm going to crash on the couch for a moment." He said and then staggered out of the room.

Sam and Dean watched him leaving and at least Sam had an uneasy feeling in his guts at leaving him out of his sight.

"You want to stitch this up, too?" Dean startled him out of his thoughts, presenting his wounded arm to him.

Grateful for the distraction, which Dean probably had given him on purpose which of course he would deny with his dying breath, Sam sat down next to his brother and had a closer look at his arm. Like Dean had said earlier, the bullet had only winged him but it had left a nasty gash on his upper arm. This one did need stitches so Sam went to work.

Later Sam stood in Bobby's small bathroom, washing the blood off his hands. Numbly he watched the swirls of pink going down the drain.

Suddenly everything was too much.

Bracing himself on the rim of the sink with both hands he took in a shattered breath.

He needed to get back to Dean. Get him the ointment for his bruised chest. Clean up the mess he'd left on the kitchen table. He needed …

Gray spots crept into his vision and he closed his eyes, focused on his breathing. He just needed a moment, just a sec.

With his head hanging between his shoulders Sam tried to force himself to move. There was stuff he needed to do, his brother needed him. But he couldn't move. His grip on the sink tightened and he didn't need to open his eyes to know that his knuckles were white and that the tendons in his forearms stood out like ropes. His whole body vibrated with the tension.

"Hey, you alright?" Suddenly Dean's warm voice was behind him. "Sammy?"

"I'm ..." The words were stuck in his throat and he had to try again. "I'm fine. Just ..."

A hand landed on his shoulder and Dean's fingers dug gently into the tight muscles there. Sam felt himself relax into the touch, just a little bit.

"Why don't you come back downstairs and sit for a moment?" Dean suggested but didn't try to stir him away from the sink. Sam nodded his head, still hanging between his shoulders, lifting it seemed like too much of an effort right now.

"The ointment ... for your chest … I wanted to ..." Sam fumbled with the knob of the cabinet's door but then could only stare at the cluttered mess inside.

"Hey." Dean said again. "I can get it. You just sit down for a moment." Now he gently guided him the two steps over to the bathtub where he urged Sam to sit down.

"What a day." Dean let out a sigh, his back now turned on Sam while he searched through the cabinet for the ointment he didn't really need. It was just a stupid bruise.

Sam watched his brother. His movement was kind of stiff, he was moving around carefully, which told him that Dean's chest was hurting but not bad enough to put him out of commission. Like he was used to it. Used to hurt and that was something he really didn't want to think about too closely.

"This a normal day in the office for you?" Sam asked with a shaky laugh. Dean had been shot. Twice. And he was acting like nothing had happened. He'd just shrugged it off, let Sam take care of his wounds and moved on. What did that say about their lives?

Sam knew about their lives as a hunter in theory but today he'd seen what that actually meant. They could have died today. They came out on top but they could have died just as easily.

Dean took a moment before he turned around. He leaned against the sink and studied Sam for a long second.

"I'm not lying to you." He finally said. "Our life is dangerous." He let out a sigh. "But this was kind of an unique thing. Usually we pick our fights."

He didn't say that they didn't have to pick any fights in the near future if Sam didn't want to but he didn't really have to say it out loud. Sam knew that Dean would rather sit out a hunt or two until Sam's memory was back anyway. And now Sam agreed with him. Like this he wasn't any use on a hunt.

"C'mon." Dean pushed himself off the sink. "Bobby's sleeping. We can raid his Jack."

Sam laughed at that and followed his brother back to the kitchen.

Dean poured them their drinks but kept the bottle in reach. Then he raised his glass with a serious expression.

"You did good today, you know that?" He said. "I would have probably just shot the bastard. Hell, he deserved it."

"Why didn't you?" Sam took a sip of his drink but then downed the rest in one go. He gritted his teeth against the burn and didn't even have to ask for a refill, his glass was full again when he opened his eyes.

"It was not about what I wanted to do." Dean said quietly and hid his face behind his glass.

Gordon's voice echoed through Sam's mind.

"He thought that I would shoot him." He tried to make sense out of Gordon's words, his expression. "As if it would prove his point."

"He thinks he knows you. He doesn't." Dean poured himself another drink but now he put the bottle on the counter behind him. The plan wasn't to get drunk today and Sam was on board with that. But the alcohol calmed his nerves, he could already feel the effect. The knot in his guts loosened a bit and he could breath easier.

"I don't even know myself." Sam muttered into his whiskey. Bits and pieces of his life were coming back and now he dared to hope that he would get his full memory back at one point but right now the Sam from before was a stranger.

"I know you." Dean stated. "I knew you wouldn't just shoot him."

Sam nodded to that, not sure what to do with his brother's confidence in him.

He had these visions and according to Gordon that was something bad. He didn't know where that could lead but he didn't really want to find out.

What he wanted to do even less was to talk about all that stuff again. They already had this conversation. So he just motioned for Dean to refill his glass once again, what Dean did, reluctantly and only half a finger.

Sipping their drinks they sat there for a moment, each of them caught in their own thoughts but then Dean broke the silence by telling him a dumb story from their childhood. Apparently Sam had tried to befriend a viscous dog when he was five.

"You wouldn't shut up about it." Dean groaned. "You wanted to go back to him every day and bring him little treats. I thought he would bite your arm off."

Sam smiled to that and just let Dean talk. Warming up Dean told one story after the other, all light hearted and a little embarrassing on Sam's side, not that he minded. At one point Bobby joined them and evened things out by telling him more about Dean's antics.

None of the stories triggered any memories but it helped to get his mind off Gordon. And for sure it helped that Dean and Bobby felt animated enough to tell those stories in the first place.

In the evening Sam stalled to go to bed even if he felt tired to the bone. But he feared to be alone with his thoughts. He didn't want to lay awake half the night and spent the other half with nightmares. So in the end Dean basically dragged him up the stairs and dumped him in bed.

Sam was too tired to protest and crawled under the covers instead. At least Dean was in the same room, his bed only an arm's length away. Sam turned to his side so he had Dean in his line of sight and then he closed his eyes.

To his surprise he sank deeper into his pillow with a content sigh and only minutes later he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed but it wasn't a bad dream. He dreamed of Jess.

Chapter 15

sam winchester, amnesia, dean winchester, season 2

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