Lost and Forgotten for excoyote
Title: Lost and Forgotten
Recipient: excoyote
Rating: T
Word Count: 1757
Warnings: Magic and Curses
Summary: The Hunt was overall a success but Dean is forgetting something very important.
Some witches are ugly, with hunched backs and warty noses. Others are almost unworldly in their beauty, with eyes to get lost in and bodies that ensnare men’s souls. Some are ancient with wild white hair and eyes filmy with cataracts. Others are young, virginal, innocent. This witch is none of these things. She could not look more ordinary, nondescript even. She has light brown hair and light brown eyes and she wears a lot of beige. She fades into the background.
Sam doesn’t even see her at first. He is so focussed on the rest of the coven that he doesn’t even notice her, hands outstretched, eyes glowing red, until the lightning is gathered in her arms and seeking a target, Dean. He doesn’t stop to think. He is instantly moving, getting in between her and his brother, his gun firing. The bullet hits her between the eyes and she drops to the ground. It’s already too late. The spell has been released. It catches Sam right in the chest. He screams. The pain goes on and on. He loses control of his limbs and collapses to the floor. He hears his brother cry out his name as everything goes dark.
Sam woke up to crackling heat and the acrid stench of smoke. He coughed and choked, groaning as he rolled over and slowly dragged himself to his feet. The house was in flames. Some of the witches bodies had already caught and Sam gagged on the smell of burning flesh and hair.
“Dean?” he shouted. He looked around, frantic that his brother was already burning, but his body wasn’t there. Had something taken him? The guns were gone, as was the duffel with the accelerant. What would take Dean and their possessions and leave Sam behind to burn?
Sam heard the familiar sound of the Impala’s trunk slamming. Someone had stolen his brother and was taking their car as a getaway Sam looked around. The flames were rapidly stealing across the wall. The door was already wreathed in flame. But the far window had yet to catch. There was no time to think. Sam pulled up his jacket to cover his face and barreled at the window. The glass cut up his hands on the way through but he hardly felt it. He managed to roll to his feet immediately and ran toward the car. He shouted and Dean turned to look at him and just as quickly dismissed him, got in the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Sam leapt forward, reaching for the passenger side door but Dean pulled out into the street and Sam shook his stinging fingers. Maybe it was a shapeshifter? Although if it was, it would probably have Dean’s memories and know that Sam wasn’t someone to be ignored. Regardless, he couldn’t go after it without silver and that was in the trunk of the car disappearing into the distance. He thought maybe he had left a silver knife under his pillow at the hotel but He didn’t want to lose the shifter. And would it really be dumb enough to go back to the hotel room after it already let him live?
It was that dumb. Sam leaned over to catch his breath after jogging back to the hotel room. The Impala was sitting in their parking space and he could hear Dean singing along to “Ramble On” inside.
“Goddamn method actor,” Sam muttered while planning the best way to approach the trunk of the Impala without being seen from the hotel room. He waited until the singing was a little muffled, suggesting Dean was in the bathroom, or at least away from the windows, and then he sprinted to the back of the car. It was not easy to open the trunk without the telltale squeak. Sam practically held his breath, everything in him pushing him to hurry. He forced his hands to slow down and ease the lid open.
“Get your damn hands off my car,” A familiar voice growled from behind Sam.
Sam grabbed the silver knife with muscle memory and whirled to face the shifter. It stood there, gun in its hand.
“Where’s my brother?” Sam snarled.
“If he’s a monster, he’s already dead,” the shifter smirked.
“Dean Winchester, the hunter you are impersonating, where is he?” Sam brandished the silver knife.
“You’re looking at him,” Dean said. “And I’m not impersonating anyone. This is all 100% prime Winchester beef.”
“First of all, gross. Second, you’re not Dean,” Sam growled.
“Uh, I‘d think I would be the one to know,” Dean said. He gestured to the knife in Sam’s hand. “Is that silver?”
Sam nodded and Dean bared his forearm and held it out toward him. Sam carefully cut a small slice and frowned when there was no reaction.
Dean winced and looked down at the wound on his arm. He pressed his thumb to stop the bleeding. He looked back up at Sam and there was a curious sort of blankness in his face. “Who are you and how did you sneak up on me?”
“Uh…” Sam gaped. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who snuck up on me.”
“Did you cut me?” Dean looked down at the wound as if he had never seen it before.
“Yeah, to make sure you weren’t a shifter,” Sam groaned and rubbed his brow.
“I’m no shifter. This right here is 100% prime Winchester beef,” Dean smirked. A bird flew past, distracting him for an instant and the blankness was back. “Whoa, who are you? You just like, appeared out of nowhere.”
“This isn’t funny, Dean!” Sam struggled to keep from raising his voice.
“Who’s laughing?” Dean raised his gun again.
“Whoa, whoa, don’t you recognize me?” Sam put his hands up.
“Should I?” Dean asked.
“I’m your brother!” Sam shouted.
“I think I would remember having a brother,” Dean scoffed. “Look, give me my knife back and get the hell out of here before I do something you’ll regret.” He snatched the knife from Sam’s hand and turned away to drop it back in the trunk and slam the lid. He turned back to Sam. “Hey, where did you come from?”
Sam didn’t dignify that with a response. This wasn’t going to get solved without help. He pulled out his phone and dialed as soon as he was out of Dean’s earshot.
“Bobby, something’s wrong with Dean,” Sam said bluntly.
There was a pause on the other end. “Who is this?”
“It’s Sam.”
“Sam...Miller?” he asked cautiously.
“Winchester,” Sam said.
“I don’t know a Sam Winchester,” he replied.
Sam felt a cold shock down his spine. “What the hell is going on? I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s younger brother!”
“Dean doesn’t have a brother, idjit,” Bobby said.
Either the air was getting thicker or Sam had forgotten how to breathe. He stood in silence for a couple minutes, at a loss for words.
“Who’s there?” Bobby’s gruff voice interrupted his panic. “I can hear yer breathing on the line.”
“Still me, Bobby,” Sam said hoarsely.
“Me? Who’s me?” Bobby growled.
“Sam,” Sam sighed.
“Sam Miller?” Bobby asked.
Sam hung up. And then he called every hunter he knew. Not a single one of them remembered him, most of them forgot who they were speaking to if he paused too long. Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t with Dean. He walked into the nearest diner to use their wi-fi and quickly realized it wasn’t limited to his friends and family when the waitress came up to take his order six times but never actually brought him any food. It was time to talk to Dean again.
It went about as well as could be expected. But Sam discovered so long as he was able to constantly remind Dean of his presence, he could remember their current encounter. So Sam explained his situation and just did not stop talking. He followed Dean around the room as he packed up, headed out to the Impala, and started the five hour drive to Bobby’s place. He didn’t dare leave Dean alone when they stopped. He kept up a constant drone of words as Dean went inside to pay for gas and pick up snacks. He shouted through the door while Dean went into the bathroom, gaining Sam some odd looks but totally worth it because Sam didn’t get stranded at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. His stomach growled but he didn’t want to risk Dean forgetting him while driving and kicking him out. He didn’t know just talking could hurt so much.
They reached Bobby’s house pretty late at night and all Sam wanted to do was collapse on Bobby’s couch and sleep for the next twenty hours.
“Who is this?” Bobby groaned as he opened the door. “And why are you knocking on my door at Midnight?”
Dean opened his mouth to speak but suddenly looked confused. Sam jumped in to explain and then continued to chat through a throat full of shards of glass as Bobby and Dean started to research. Sam wanted to help but the moment he stopped talking to read, Bobby would try to kick him out of the house and Dean would try to go to bed.
Finally, at 3 am, with Sam dead on his feet, Bobby finally spoke. “I think I’ve got it. It’s pretty simple actually. It’s a spell reversal combined with a cleansing ritual to keep the victim from relapsing. I’ve got all the ingredients right here. We can do it first thing tomorrow.”
“No,” Sam shouted as well as he could. “Do it now before you forget and have to start over.”
“I’m not going to forget, ya idjit.,” Bobby glared.
“You already did, several times. Please, Bobby,” Sam looked at him and, regardless of his lack of memory, Bobby was still vulnerable to the puppy dog eyes.
“Fine,” he sighed.
Sam was on his last legs but he continued to talk as Bobby gathered everything he needed and set it up. It was remarkably quick, just an herb mixture, a short chant, and the mixture going up in smoke.
Sam looked at the both of them, silent for the first time in at least 10 hours, too exhausted to keep going, not sure if he could handle what came next if they had failed.
“Oh hey, Sam!” Dean looked at him and grinned, seeing him for the first time since that witch had spelled him. “When did you get here?”
Recipient: excoyote
Rating: T
Word Count: 1757
Warnings: Magic and Curses
Summary: The Hunt was overall a success but Dean is forgetting something very important.
Some witches are ugly, with hunched backs and warty noses. Others are almost unworldly in their beauty, with eyes to get lost in and bodies that ensnare men’s souls. Some are ancient with wild white hair and eyes filmy with cataracts. Others are young, virginal, innocent. This witch is none of these things. She could not look more ordinary, nondescript even. She has light brown hair and light brown eyes and she wears a lot of beige. She fades into the background.
Sam doesn’t even see her at first. He is so focussed on the rest of the coven that he doesn’t even notice her, hands outstretched, eyes glowing red, until the lightning is gathered in her arms and seeking a target, Dean. He doesn’t stop to think. He is instantly moving, getting in between her and his brother, his gun firing. The bullet hits her between the eyes and she drops to the ground. It’s already too late. The spell has been released. It catches Sam right in the chest. He screams. The pain goes on and on. He loses control of his limbs and collapses to the floor. He hears his brother cry out his name as everything goes dark.
Sam woke up to crackling heat and the acrid stench of smoke. He coughed and choked, groaning as he rolled over and slowly dragged himself to his feet. The house was in flames. Some of the witches bodies had already caught and Sam gagged on the smell of burning flesh and hair.
“Dean?” he shouted. He looked around, frantic that his brother was already burning, but his body wasn’t there. Had something taken him? The guns were gone, as was the duffel with the accelerant. What would take Dean and their possessions and leave Sam behind to burn?
Sam heard the familiar sound of the Impala’s trunk slamming. Someone had stolen his brother and was taking their car as a getaway Sam looked around. The flames were rapidly stealing across the wall. The door was already wreathed in flame. But the far window had yet to catch. There was no time to think. Sam pulled up his jacket to cover his face and barreled at the window. The glass cut up his hands on the way through but he hardly felt it. He managed to roll to his feet immediately and ran toward the car. He shouted and Dean turned to look at him and just as quickly dismissed him, got in the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Sam leapt forward, reaching for the passenger side door but Dean pulled out into the street and Sam shook his stinging fingers. Maybe it was a shapeshifter? Although if it was, it would probably have Dean’s memories and know that Sam wasn’t someone to be ignored. Regardless, he couldn’t go after it without silver and that was in the trunk of the car disappearing into the distance. He thought maybe he had left a silver knife under his pillow at the hotel but He didn’t want to lose the shifter. And would it really be dumb enough to go back to the hotel room after it already let him live?
It was that dumb. Sam leaned over to catch his breath after jogging back to the hotel room. The Impala was sitting in their parking space and he could hear Dean singing along to “Ramble On” inside.
“Goddamn method actor,” Sam muttered while planning the best way to approach the trunk of the Impala without being seen from the hotel room. He waited until the singing was a little muffled, suggesting Dean was in the bathroom, or at least away from the windows, and then he sprinted to the back of the car. It was not easy to open the trunk without the telltale squeak. Sam practically held his breath, everything in him pushing him to hurry. He forced his hands to slow down and ease the lid open.
“Get your damn hands off my car,” A familiar voice growled from behind Sam.
Sam grabbed the silver knife with muscle memory and whirled to face the shifter. It stood there, gun in its hand.
“Where’s my brother?” Sam snarled.
“If he’s a monster, he’s already dead,” the shifter smirked.
“Dean Winchester, the hunter you are impersonating, where is he?” Sam brandished the silver knife.
“You’re looking at him,” Dean said. “And I’m not impersonating anyone. This is all 100% prime Winchester beef.”
“First of all, gross. Second, you’re not Dean,” Sam growled.
“Uh, I‘d think I would be the one to know,” Dean said. He gestured to the knife in Sam’s hand. “Is that silver?”
Sam nodded and Dean bared his forearm and held it out toward him. Sam carefully cut a small slice and frowned when there was no reaction.
Dean winced and looked down at the wound on his arm. He pressed his thumb to stop the bleeding. He looked back up at Sam and there was a curious sort of blankness in his face. “Who are you and how did you sneak up on me?”
“Uh…” Sam gaped. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re the one who snuck up on me.”
“Did you cut me?” Dean looked down at the wound as if he had never seen it before.
“Yeah, to make sure you weren’t a shifter,” Sam groaned and rubbed his brow.
“I’m no shifter. This right here is 100% prime Winchester beef,” Dean smirked. A bird flew past, distracting him for an instant and the blankness was back. “Whoa, who are you? You just like, appeared out of nowhere.”
“This isn’t funny, Dean!” Sam struggled to keep from raising his voice.
“Who’s laughing?” Dean raised his gun again.
“Whoa, whoa, don’t you recognize me?” Sam put his hands up.
“Should I?” Dean asked.
“I’m your brother!” Sam shouted.
“I think I would remember having a brother,” Dean scoffed. “Look, give me my knife back and get the hell out of here before I do something you’ll regret.” He snatched the knife from Sam’s hand and turned away to drop it back in the trunk and slam the lid. He turned back to Sam. “Hey, where did you come from?”
Sam didn’t dignify that with a response. This wasn’t going to get solved without help. He pulled out his phone and dialed as soon as he was out of Dean’s earshot.
“Bobby, something’s wrong with Dean,” Sam said bluntly.
There was a pause on the other end. “Who is this?”
“It’s Sam.”
“Sam...Miller?” he asked cautiously.
“Winchester,” Sam said.
“I don’t know a Sam Winchester,” he replied.
Sam felt a cold shock down his spine. “What the hell is going on? I’m Sam Winchester, Dean’s younger brother!”
“Dean doesn’t have a brother, idjit,” Bobby said.
Either the air was getting thicker or Sam had forgotten how to breathe. He stood in silence for a couple minutes, at a loss for words.
“Who’s there?” Bobby’s gruff voice interrupted his panic. “I can hear yer breathing on the line.”
“Still me, Bobby,” Sam said hoarsely.
“Me? Who’s me?” Bobby growled.
“Sam,” Sam sighed.
“Sam Miller?” Bobby asked.
Sam hung up. And then he called every hunter he knew. Not a single one of them remembered him, most of them forgot who they were speaking to if he paused too long. Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t with Dean. He walked into the nearest diner to use their wi-fi and quickly realized it wasn’t limited to his friends and family when the waitress came up to take his order six times but never actually brought him any food. It was time to talk to Dean again.
It went about as well as could be expected. But Sam discovered so long as he was able to constantly remind Dean of his presence, he could remember their current encounter. So Sam explained his situation and just did not stop talking. He followed Dean around the room as he packed up, headed out to the Impala, and started the five hour drive to Bobby’s place. He didn’t dare leave Dean alone when they stopped. He kept up a constant drone of words as Dean went inside to pay for gas and pick up snacks. He shouted through the door while Dean went into the bathroom, gaining Sam some odd looks but totally worth it because Sam didn’t get stranded at a gas station in the middle of nowhere. His stomach growled but he didn’t want to risk Dean forgetting him while driving and kicking him out. He didn’t know just talking could hurt so much.
They reached Bobby’s house pretty late at night and all Sam wanted to do was collapse on Bobby’s couch and sleep for the next twenty hours.
“Who is this?” Bobby groaned as he opened the door. “And why are you knocking on my door at Midnight?”
Dean opened his mouth to speak but suddenly looked confused. Sam jumped in to explain and then continued to chat through a throat full of shards of glass as Bobby and Dean started to research. Sam wanted to help but the moment he stopped talking to read, Bobby would try to kick him out of the house and Dean would try to go to bed.
Finally, at 3 am, with Sam dead on his feet, Bobby finally spoke. “I think I’ve got it. It’s pretty simple actually. It’s a spell reversal combined with a cleansing ritual to keep the victim from relapsing. I’ve got all the ingredients right here. We can do it first thing tomorrow.”
“No,” Sam shouted as well as he could. “Do it now before you forget and have to start over.”
“I’m not going to forget, ya idjit.,” Bobby glared.
“You already did, several times. Please, Bobby,” Sam looked at him and, regardless of his lack of memory, Bobby was still vulnerable to the puppy dog eyes.
“Fine,” he sighed.
Sam was on his last legs but he continued to talk as Bobby gathered everything he needed and set it up. It was remarkably quick, just an herb mixture, a short chant, and the mixture going up in smoke.
Sam looked at the both of them, silent for the first time in at least 10 hours, too exhausted to keep going, not sure if he could handle what came next if they had failed.
“Oh hey, Sam!” Dean looked at him and grinned, seeing him for the first time since that witch had spelled him. “When did you get here?”