Chapter Text
"If you leave, you better stay gone!"
Those words haunted John Winchester for the first few days since his youngest son had left their family, off to college and a normal life.
But John had meant them, and he didn't regret them. His son Sam was meant for so much more than just fighting monsters. He was so smart, so talented - John knew this, but he hadn't appreciated his son, and now he was gone.
So, for once John took his boy's thoughts and feelings into consideration, knowing that he was right, this had to be done, and made sure that Sam would stay gone, just like he wanted.
His oldest son Dean was out on a food run, so John only had maybe half an hour to do what needed to be done. Dean could never know what he was doing; he knew how his sons were, and he knew Dean would hate him for this someday, but for now, John just wanted to take care of Sam.
He muttered a slew of words as he began to drop various flowers, powders, and liquids into a large bowl. He continued to mutter words, nothing distinguishable as he sat a picture of him and his two sons into the bowl on top of the ingredients. Next, he grabbed his knife, pressing the silver blade against his palm, watching as the rich red of his blood ran down his skin and into the bowl, more words slipping from his lips. With a yell of anger, there was a flash of fire in the bowl.
The picture had burned away on one side, burning off the smiling face of one Sam Winchester.
…
….
……
….
…
SIX MONTHS LATER: STANFORD UNIVERSITY, CALIFORNIA
Sam Winchester groaned as he woke up from a particularly nasty dream- something involving something clawing at his face and an older boy with such vivid green eyes was there screaming something, but Sam couldn't have been older than maybe 8 in it? And he didn't know any older boys with eyes like that.
He shook the dream off and sat up, hair a fluffy mess around his face. He had been at Stanford University for six months now, on a full scholarship, and he felt happy, proud of himself for making it this far.
But it felt like something was missing. He talked to his Uncle Bobby at least once a week, the older man always calling to check up on him; he had made friends, and was never truly alone unless his roommate went out partying.
Really, he had no complaints; his life was good.
He did find his eyes falling to the only photos he had brought with him from home - one of him and his Uncle Bobby, arms slung around each other. The other photo was the only one he had of his family. His family...
So what was missing?
...
Dean Winchester was banging his hands against the steering wheel of his Baby - a sleek black '67 Impala - as music blasted through the speakers.
He had just finished a case in Nevada, and decided maybe he would go see Sammy before he turned tail and rejoined their dad in Montana.
It had been six months since Sam had left them, and he hadn't called or texted, not once. He had promised Dean he would stay in touch, but he hadn't.
And honestly, that stung a little. Dean was never one for emotional ooey-gooey crap, but Sammy had always been his weak spot, and he was so damn proud of him, and he just wanted to make sure he was doing okay.
…
Dean pulled into a vacant spot in front of Sam’s dorm building, tapping his hands on the steering wheel again. Sure, he knew Sam had been angry at their dad, and him, but he was hoping his little brother would still be glad to see him.
So why wasn’t he getting out of the car yet?
Dean would never admit it, but he was scared. He didn’t know how Sam would react to seeing him – something in him, deep in his gut, told him that this would be bad, but Dean didn’t care. He just wanted to see his Sammy again.
California was nasty in the winter months – not cold, just resting at a steady 67 degrees, but there was nothing but gray skies and a seemingly constant drizzle of sticky rain. Man, Dean didn’t like the rain – it made the roads nasty, made people drive like maniacs, it was hell on Baby.
But Dean didn’t have much time to dwell on the nastiness of the weather when he recognized a certain flop of brown hair – the person had their shoulders hunched, head down and hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, but Dean would know that walk anywhere. Getting out of the car, he made his way over to his little brother, grateful that the rain had slowed down enough right now.
“Sammy!” He watched Sam turn to face him, but instead of relief, or happiness, or even anger, the only emotion Dean could see was confusion.
...
Sam had decided to brave the weather to go out to get something to eat, and had only taken a few steps when he saw the shiny black car parked in front of his dorm – it was nice, and he couldn’t help thinking it looked like something his Uncle Bobby would like to see. He had debated about maybe taking a picture when he realized someone was inside. So, turning away, he hunched his shoulders against the slight rain and made his way down the sidewalk.
He almost tripped over his feet when he heard a deep rough voice call out “Sammy!”, and almost gave himself whiplash turning around to see who it was.
No one called him Sammy. Not even his Uncle Bobby – he had always said that was what his brother had called him, and no one else ever should.
“It’s Sam,” Sam said automatically, squinting in confusion as the man approached him. The man had looked happy to see him, but his face fell as he got closer. “Can I help you?”
The man looked at him, frowning now.
“What?” Sam asked, a feeling of unease and familiarity hitting him as he met the green eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. “What?!”
“I don’t know man, I expected maybe some yelling, maybe a hug? You were always into the emotional crap Sammy.”
“It’s Sam. And I don’t know who the hell you think I am, but why the hell would I hug you? I don’t know you.”
…
Dean was pretty sure this is what dying felt like.
Sam didn’t know who he was? They were all each other had growing up, and Sam didn’t know who he was?
“Real funny Sammy.”
“Listen dude, you have me confused with someone else.” Sam turned away, but Dean reached for him. It hurt him to watch his little brother shrug him off. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Sam it’s me! Dean! Your big brother? Any of this ringing a bell?” Sam stopped in his tracks, hazel puppy dog eyes wide in fear, and then his face twisted in anger.
“That’s a fucked up joke dude. Leave me the hell alone.” He turned away but then turned back. “And how the hell do you even know about Dean? Huh? Was it Brady? Did he put you up to this I swear I’m going to stab that drunk bastard in the eye when he gets back.”
“What? Who the fuck is Brady?” Dean asked, shaking his head. “Sam, it’s me. Dean!”
“Okay, you need to shut the fuck up right now,” Sam said, stepping closer, feeling his lips shake as he forces out the words. “I don’t know who you think you are,” he said, another step closer to this guy, his shoulders shaking now, “But my brother, Dean, died when he was four years old, in a fire with our parents. I never knew him. I only know who he is because my uncle had a fucking photo. Just one. That’s all I have of Dean. So please, whoever the fuck you are, leave me alone.”
Sam turned away then, storming down the sidewalk, shoulders shaking again.
Dean watched him go, his heart racing in gut-wrenching fear. But then he thought about what Sam had said. His uncle?
If their parents had died, if he had died, who would Sam be put with? Who would his dad trust to take care of his kids if he wasn’t there?
…
Bobby answered on the first ring, and Dean didn’t waste any time.
“Hey Bobby. It’s Dean. You know who I am don’t you?”
“Of course I do you idjit,” Bobby muttered, and Dean closed his eyes in relief. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”
“Sam-“
“You didn’t go see him, did you? I know your dad told you to stay away,” Bobby said, cutting him off, immediately raising warning flags in Dean’s mind.
“You knew. You knew he wouldn’t know who I was.”
“Dean,” Bobby sighed, and Dean felt like his heart was being torn in half. “Call your dad. He knows more than I do.”
“What do you know?”
“As far as Sam knows, it wasn’t only his mama who died that night. It was you and John too. You… you carried him out, and then went back in to help your daddy. You two din’t make it.”
“Who did this to him?”
“Call John. Make sure to tell him that I said I told you so.” Bobby hung up then, and Dean wanted to scream.
Someone – he had a suspicion who, thanks to Bobby – had fucked with his Sammy’s head, and oh, heads would roll when Dean was done.
…
Sam sat at the small diner he often frequented on the nights he couldn’t sleep – some small 24 hour place that had good milkshakes and served all day breakfast. It was a place many college kids came to. Right now, besides Sam, there were only a few other people inside.
He had his head against the cool countertop, his heart racing and his breathing trying to get back to normal.
Who had that guy been? Why did he keep saying he was Dean? Sam’s Dean – his older brother who he was sure he would have loved more than anything – was dead. Sam had never even gotten to meet him, to know him. All he knew about him was the small four year old boy who held him in the photo that sat on Sam’s desk. The photo was the only thing he had of his family – it had his mom and dad, both smiling so happily with their arms around each other, standing behind a small blonde boy, who held a tiny bundle of blankets with a small round face peeking out of them.
But almost like a distant memory, he could hear a rough voice talking to him, a hand on his face, the smell of gunpowder and salt in the air...
Sam sat up, furiously wiping at his eyes as they tried to tear up. He wouldn’t cry over what he never had. He had his Uncle Bobby, who had been great to him his whole life.
So why was seeing some random guy, who he didn’t even know, upsetting him so much?
…
Dean was glad when he had convinced John to meet him in Nevada. He thought this was a conversation that was more of an in-person type thing.
He was pacing in the small motel room, his pulse racing – the sooner he got this conversation out of the way, he could get back to California and to Sam, and set things right.
“Dean! You okay kid?” John asked, barreling into the room like a bull on a mission, making Dean just that more mad.
“No. I just got back from California.”
Dean had never seen his dad look scared until that moment. Not even when their house was burning around them, with his wife dead inside, did John Winchester look as scared as he did right now. That fear soon turned to anger.
“What the hell were you doing in California.”
“Well, thought I’d go check on Sammy. But you see, funny thing… He didn’t know who I was. He said I was dead.” John didn’t back down from the glare his oldest son was giving him, but he didn’t have to. “He said I died the night mom did. The same night you, apparently, died too. So tell me dad, wait sorry, John, why the hell doesn’t Sam know who we are, and why does he think we’re dead!?” Dean was screaming by this point, he was so frustrated. He had always been his dad’s good soldier, but it had been his number one job in life to take care of his little brother, and Sam would always come first.
John knew there was no point in lying now.
“I did what I had to do.”
“Oh, and you mind telling me what the hell it was that you had to do?!”
“I gave Sam what he wanted – out.” Dean didn’t look convinced as he stared at his father, murder in his eyes. “As far as Sam knows, me and you are dead. He spent his whole life with Bobby. I erased everything, and changed it with a life that was better for him. This way, we can hunt down what killed Mary, and Sam can be the normal he always wanted to be.”
“You didn’t do this for Sam. Don’t try to make it sound like you did,” Dean said as he grabbed his jacket. “You did this for you. One less bag to carry around and worry about, right? Well…” Dean said, storming to the door and yanking it open, only turning back as he glared at his dad. “You’re going to tell me what you did to cause this, and then you’ll be free of both the bags you’ve been carrying around since I was four years old.”
…
Sam had just gotten off the phone with his Uncle Bobby - it had been three days since he had seen the guy who called himself “Dean”, and he just needed reassurance from his uncle that there was no way… Bobby had told Sam to just not worry, that everything would be okay, and Sam wasn’t sure if he believed him or not.
Something about the guy had just… unsettled him. Sam was staring at the photo of his family, looking at the small four year old boy, with his blonde hair and green eyes. He could easily have been the guy who had found Sam at school…
But no, Dean was dead. No matter how much Sam wished he had grown up with his big brother, his mom and dad, he hadn’t. He had lived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, with his uncle, a man named Bobby Singer - Sam still wasn’t sure on the relation, but whatever - who had raised him and taken care of him his whole life.
So why did Sam seem to have hazy memories of hopping from school to school, town to town, staying in dirty, dingy motel rooms over and over again? Why did he seem to see that man’s face every time he slept - not always a man though, no; he saw a dark-blonde haired kid teaching him to ride a bike, an angsty teenager who would tease him and rufflle his hair, a cocky smirk as an arm was slung around his shoulders. The person changed, getting older through the thoughts, but the eyes - those bottle green eyes, were always focused on him, sometimes in annoyance, sometimes in fear, but most of the times Sam could see them, there was nothing but admiration and love, protection and warmth.
What the hell was going on?
...
John was no help - he had told Dean there was no way to reverse what he had done, that Sam was lost to them forever.
Dean called bullshit on that. Everything could be reversed somehow, someway. So, leaving his dad alone to brood in the crappy motel, Dean loaded himself up on coffee and pie, and started the 20-plus hour drive to South Dakota.
If anyone could help Sam get his memory back, it would be Bobby.
…
Sam was surprised when his Uncle Bobby called him on Friday night, asking him to catch the next bus and come home for the weekend. He briefly wondered if something was wrong, but Bobby had told him not to worry, he just wanted to see him, and Sam had to admit, he missed the only family he ever knew.
So, he packed up a bag and got on the next bus.
He would be in South Dakota by Saturday night at the latest.
…
“You think this will work?” Dean asked, staring at the gray-green goo mixture that was currently boiling on Bobby’s stovetop.
“It should. He’s already on his way here, so that’s not a problem. And this is supposed to be a cure-all counter memory spell, and it’s the only thing that looks like it’ll counteract whatever it is that your daddy did.”
“But you really think he’s gonna drink this?” Dean asks, grabbing a spoon and poking at the muck as it bubbles up. Bobby slaps the 22-year-old’s hand away and turns the heat down to a simmer.
“He will. Sam’s a good kid. Now, what I could weasel out of your dad was a mumble of crap, but I did gather it’s a blood-spell. Knick your finger. One drop should do it.”
“You’re gonna make Sam drink my blood?”
“It’s just a drop you idjit. He’s gonna be drinking this swamp water, not sucking the life outa you. Now, knick your damn finger.”
Dean grimaced but did as he said, cutting his finger just barely so a couple of drops of his blood fell into the nasty concoction. He watched Bobby mix it in before he put a lid on the pot and left it to simmer.
“Okay, you need to get to your motel, he’ll be here soon, and if he sees you, he’ll turn tail and run. You freaked ‘im out.”
“Not like I meant to,” Dean grumbled, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. “So what will this spell do?”
“Well, there’s two outcomes - he’ll either pass out on his ass while his brain resets, or he starts screaming bloody murder because your dad scrubbed his brain raw and it still needs to reset.” Dean’s face deadpanned and he shrugged off his jacket.
“Yeah I’m not leaving. I’ll move Baby, I’ll hide upstairs in the other guestroom, and just wait it out.”
“Dean I don’t know… there’s no way to tell how he’s gunna react to this.”
“I’m not gonna leave Sammy to deal with the backlash of my dad’s stupid mistakes.” Bobby sighed, knowing he wouldn’t win this argument, and just gave a heavy nod in acceptance.
Those Winchesters sure were stubborn.
…
Sam grinned as his uncle met him at the bus station.
“Heya Sam! How’s college been my boy?” he asked, trying his best to sound cheerful. Sam was dog-tired from the bus ride, so he didn’t notice how tense Bobby really was. “You look like you’re dead on your feet boy. Come on home, let's get you taken care of.” Sam just nodded and let the older man lead him to his truck.
Sam was almost dead asleep when they pulled into the gravel-ridden driveway - he hated bus travel, it was cramped and exhausting for someone of his height. So he was glad to see the familiar house - not some rundown motel with tiny beds and too-big bodies crammed into one bed while two people fought over the covers. He stumbled out of the car, ready to just sleep the night and half the next day away, when Bobby clamped a hand down on his shoulder.
“I went to the store this mornin’ to get some lunch stuff for tomorrow, and they had this new-fangled tea that's supposed to help ya sleep. Why don’t you and me have a cup, get this damn night behind us huh?”
Sam, already half-asleep, wasn’t going to turn down the offer of more sleep, so he nodded and let himself be led into the living room while Bobby went and got them each a cup of tea - well, Sam had the tea, and Bobby had whiskey, but the 18-year old didn’t need to know that. Sam made a face as he sniffed at the cup his uncle handed him.
“This smells disgusting.”
“You’re the one into all that health stuff Sam. Drink up.” Sam grimaced again, but he knew he didn’t want to disappoint Bobby by not drinking it, so he chugged it down in three long gulps - the sooner he finished it, the sooner he could sleep.
He made a gagging noise, his eyes wide and scared as he looked at Bobby, who sighed as he kept his eyes locked on Sam’s. Sam made a gurgling noise one more time before his eyes drooped and he fell face first onto the couch, fast asleep as he was now letting out soft snores.
So far, so good.