The man in the rumpled trench coat regards you with a curious tilt of his head. His chestnut hair is messy, like he hasn't combed it in days, and his tie is wrinkled. The man seems a bit perplexed by everything in this mysterious motel room (much like you--Sam, your name is Sam--was just a few days earlier) and picks up the tattered phone book in the drawer before tossing it aside.
"Sam?"
A tap on your shoulder jolts you back to this reality that still makes no sense. You woke up yesterday remembering nothing but the fact that you had fallen off a cliff and that your head ached with pain, perhaps from the loss of your memories.
"Sam, this is Cas." The older man--Dean, you remind yourself, your older brother. So he says. You haven't been able to see one piece of legitimate I.D. to prove his story, though you did find a box of fake I.D.s in the glove compartment of that death trap he calls "our car".
Can waves awkwardly.
"He's going to stay with you while I . . ." Dean bites his lower lip as he struggles for words. He's been doing that a lot since you woke up. Any question you asked was met with silence, followed by a hasty reply and then a don't worry about it, Sam which effectively ended all conversation.
"While Dean attends to business." Cas completes, seemingly proud of himself for his vague reply.
You just nod. Honestly, it doesn't matter to you whether Dean stays or goes. It's probably best he leaves. You need to get yourself to a police station. Someone is sure to have filed a missing persons report on you by now. Or at the very least, you could confirm your identity.
"Right." Dean glances at you and it's times like these, when his gaze pierces yours, that you feel something stir within you. Some sort of memory, buried deep, trying to resurface. You know him somehow, deep down, a part of you does and it's crying out, begging your mind to put the pieces together.
But then he looks away and it's gone.
And you feel nothing once more.
Dean grabs a duffel from the bed and leans towards Cas, whispering something. Cas nods his head and then, without so much as a goodbye, Dean is gone and you're left with another stranger that you can't recall.
"Sam."
It takes three tries of saying your name before you finally look away from the TV and regard Cas. Three times is a record for you. Perhaps you are improving.
"Yeah?" Your voice is hoarse to your ears. You can't recognize it and it's almost like a monster is within you and your body wants to reject it, but it can't. You wish you could remember, but whenever you reach for the memories, your head pounds and you have to stop.
"Are you hungry?" He holds up a piece of bread with peanut butter on it. The peanut butter is spread haphazardly though and it make you want to chuckle. This man--Cas--he doesn't know how to make a PB&J? You get up from the bed and move towards the table. Peanut butter and jelly are everywhere and you reach for a paper towel to start cleaning it up.
"Sam. I'm supposed to take care of you." Those cerulean eyes lock onto yours and it stirs something within you. You know those eyes. They've haunted your dreams and saved you from nightmares. Those eyes have saved you from horrors you can't recall. You want to ask him how you know him, but you're afraid of another lie.
"Cas . . ." No, there's more to his name. Dean calls him Cas, but you call him . . . you've prayed to him, sought his help when you were lost and you called out for him--
Your brain burns and you gasp as the wave of pain courses through you. Cas grips you and leads you to the bed.
"Breathe, Sam." His steady voice coaches you, while he places two fingers to your forehead. It must be a trick of the light for you swear they glow, but it's over in the briefest of seconds and then the pain is blissfully gone. The man in the trench coat grins at you and all feels right in the world.
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carisma_sensei
Filled: Whatever Lies Beyond This Morning (1/?)
Date: 2016-05-02 05:27 pm (UTC)"Sam?"
A tap on your shoulder jolts you back to this reality that still makes no sense. You woke up yesterday remembering nothing but the fact that you had fallen off a cliff and that your head ached with pain, perhaps from the loss of your memories.
"Sam, this is Cas." The older man--Dean, you remind yourself, your older brother. So he says. You haven't been able to see one piece of legitimate I.D. to prove his story, though you did find a box of fake I.D.s in the glove compartment of that death trap he calls "our car".
Can waves awkwardly.
"He's going to stay with you while I . . ." Dean bites his lower lip as he struggles for words. He's been doing that a lot since you woke up. Any question you asked was met with silence, followed by a hasty reply and then a don't worry about it, Sam which effectively ended all conversation.
"While Dean attends to business." Cas completes, seemingly proud of himself for his vague reply.
You just nod. Honestly, it doesn't matter to you whether Dean stays or goes. It's probably best he leaves. You need to get yourself to a police station. Someone is sure to have filed a missing persons report on you by now. Or at the very least, you could confirm your identity.
"Right." Dean glances at you and it's times like these, when his gaze pierces yours, that you feel something stir within you. Some sort of memory, buried deep, trying to resurface. You know him somehow, deep down, a part of you does and it's crying out, begging your mind to put the pieces together.
But then he looks away and it's gone.
And you feel nothing once more.
Dean grabs a duffel from the bed and leans towards Cas, whispering something. Cas nods his head and then, without so much as a goodbye, Dean is gone and you're left with another stranger that you can't recall.
"Sam."
It takes three tries of saying your name before you finally look away from the TV and regard Cas. Three times is a record for you. Perhaps you are improving.
"Yeah?" Your voice is hoarse to your ears. You can't recognize it and it's almost like a monster is within you and your body wants to reject it, but it can't. You wish you could remember, but whenever you reach for the memories, your head pounds and you have to stop.
"Are you hungry?" He holds up a piece of bread with peanut butter on it. The peanut butter is spread haphazardly though and it make you want to chuckle. This man--Cas--he doesn't know how to make a PB&J? You get up from the bed and move towards the table. Peanut butter and jelly are everywhere and you reach for a paper towel to start cleaning it up.
"Sam. I'm supposed to take care of you." Those cerulean eyes lock onto yours and it stirs something within you. You know those eyes. They've haunted your dreams and saved you from nightmares. Those eyes have saved you from horrors you can't recall. You want to ask him how you know him, but you're afraid of another lie.
"Cas . . ." No, there's more to his name. Dean calls him Cas, but you call him . . . you've prayed to him, sought his help when you were lost and you called out for him--
Your brain burns and you gasp as the wave of pain courses through you. Cas grips you and leads you to the bed.
"Breathe, Sam." His steady voice coaches you, while he places two fingers to your forehead. It must be a trick of the light for you swear they glow, but it's over in the briefest of seconds and then the pain is blissfully gone. The man in the trench coat grins at you and all feels right in the world.
But you still don't remember him.