Chapter Text
Amnesia. Noun. New Latin, adapted from the Greek amnēsia—roughly translated, ‘forgetfulness.’
The total or partial loss of one’s memory by abnormal circumstances.
Sam knew the condition well. He’d seen it many times and experienced it himself on more than one occasion. So he knew, logically, that he’d come through this alright. He’d been through far worse before and, apart from the head wound, was perfectly healthy. Every doctor he’d seen so far assured him his memories of the accident would return soon.
But it had been two months…A lot can happen in two months.
For instance, Cas was back. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the trench coated vigilante of justice before the accident. To be fair, the coma had lasted two months and a significant chunk of the preceding ones were also affected. He knew, however, that there was something different about his presence this time.
For as long as Castiel had been in his life, he’d remained an unknown variable. True to the lore of his kind, Cas was ephemeral. He’d flicker in and out of the picture as needed to orchestrate the greater plans for this realm. Even on those occasions where “angel of the lord” turned to “man of his own making,” Cas was still transient, gone off to another fight mentally if not physically. He’d never given himself fully to a life with Sam and his brother, Dean, no matter how much they considered him family. But, this time, it felt more permanent.
There was something about the way he sat by Sam’s bedside, tie loosened, slouched back in his seat. Something about the way he spoke, softly and without urgency. The way he used the door when leaving for refreshments, rather than going and returning in the blink of an eye. The way he watched whatever sitcom played on the small hospital TV and allowed himself to enjoy it, chuckling comfortably at the cliched storylines and truly laughing at Dean’s accompanying jokes. Which lead to the other difference...Dean.
Dean seemed happy.
Now, there were a lot of things that made Sam’s brother happy. Burgers, babes, booze—anything that tasted, looked or felt good. But these were all shallow happiness. It’s why he binged them, receiving precious little emotional benefit regardless of the physical stimulant. There were few things that made Dean really happy. And most of them had to do with people.
Dean liked being around the people he loved. He liked helping them when they hadn’t even asked yet. He liked singing with them, dancing with them, laughing with them and being the one who made them laugh in the first place. While he may not have been a textbook people pleaser, he liked being a source of pleasure for the people in his life. Right now, Dean was that version of happy. And, as selfish as Sam felt to say it, he thought it was inappropriate. Every other time one of them had been in the hospital, it made the other a wreck. Especially comas, and even more so ones lasting over a few days.
This time was different. When Sam woke up, he wasn’t greeted with strained smiles or held-back tears. He awoke to genuine warmth. It radiated from Dean, inside out like he had swallowed the sun. The crinkles near his eyes weren’t laced with pain from repressed emotions, but joy as his smile swept large across his face. And that smile hadn’t faded since the moment it arrived.
So what happened?
The idea that he could be the source of Dean’s happiness briefly flittered through his mind, but he dismissed it. There were no different circumstances here as far as he could tell. He was told he’d been in an “accident”—the usual. He came to in the hospital, bandages still encasing his head and Dean waiting patiently by his bedside. Nothing was different from the numerous other occasions of headwounds normalized in their line of work. Although, he supposed, there was Cas to factor into the equation.
Castiel. The unknown variable suddenly turned prime number.
Castiel had been there by his brother’s side when Sam awoke. But, without memories of the accident or the time before, he couldn’t tell if that was to be expected. Maybe Cas was involved in the fight. Maybe he was the one to cause the accident and stayed out of guilt. With a moment’s consideration he quelled the thought. Had Cas hurt him, there was no way Dean could be this happy. Any form of strife between Sam and Castiel in the past had resulted only in anguish from Dean. It had to be something else, because this was the opposite. Dean, and Castiel for that matter, seemed joyful and content.
Glowing, some might say.
As the thought locked into place in Sam’s mind, the realization dawned—this is it. Dean and Castiel must have finally gotten there. They must have admitted what they’ve kept shut away for so many years. Upon second glance, it was so obvious. The two were closer than ever before, which was saying something as Castiel was the only person Dean ever let get so close, outside of the bedroom. Over the past few years they’d seemed to draw each other in like magnets, closer every day but showing just enough restraint not to touch.
Now, it was caution to the wind.
Every time Sam glanced their direction, they seemed to be pulling apart from some form of contact. Nothing major. A hand slipping from a shoulder here. A knee tilting away there. Eyes struggling to find anything else of interest in the stark hospital room. Sam knew they’d become much more tactile with one another, but for some reason they were hiding it just out of sight. It was clear that they didn’t want him to know. So he said nothing.
Or, he was planning to say nothing. But some secrets become too apparent to ignore.