Okay hotshow, here it is! Hotshow and I are working on this storyline together, and it's really coming along. Hope you all enjoy it!!

Lil' Sammy

Where the hell was Sam? Dean paced the motel room, worry creeping cold fingers into his stomach. He replayed the argument they had over in his head as he tried to calculate how long it should take to walk a couple of blocks for fast food.

"Damn it, Dean! You dislocated your shoulder. We're taking the rest of the week off." Sam pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Sammy, Ellen called. There's something killing people there. We have to go. If you wanted a break, we should have taken that trip to the Grand Canyon when I suggested it." He glared at Sam. If Sam refused to take time off when he suggested, he would be damned, damned mind you, to take Sam up on it when it was his brother's idea. What – when it was his idea it wasn't good enough?

"We're not going, Dean!" Sam shouted, stomping his foot for emphasis.

"I'm packing, Sam," Dean replied. "If we hit the road now, we can be there by dawn, maybe prevent someone else from being killed."

Sam flapped his arms around, face turning red as Dean packed. Eventually he stopped, facing Dean. "We haven't even eaten."

"We can eat on the road," Dean replied. "There's a drive-thru a couple of blocks from here."

Sam's huff was loud and clear in the small motel room. "Fine! I'll go get it, I need some air anyway." The door slammed behind him.

Dean had considered going after his little brother, but he figured Sam needed some time to cool off. He had hoped Sam would come back in a slightly better mood. Okay, so it was probably just wishful thinking, Sam wasn't like that, but he could always hope.

He decided Sam should have been back by now, even factoring in total morons working at the fast food joint. Dean hit the call button on his cell. He listened as Sam's phone rang, rang, rang over to voicemail. His worry was turning into anger. He called again and again. Finally, on the fifth call, it was answered.

"Hello?" It was not Sam who answered, and Dean's gut clenched.

"Who the hell is this? Where's Sam?" he demanded of the stranger's voice.

"Tall kid? Brown hair?" the voice asked.

"Yes. Where is he?" he demanded again, grabbing his gun and tucking it into his waistband.

"On the way to County General Hospital," the voice replied. "I'm a paramedic in the ambulance transporting him."

Dean's heart lodged in his throat. He had to force his next words out. "What happened?"

"Looked like a hit and run. He's unconscious, but his vitals are stable." There was a pause. "You should probably get down there. We couldn't find any ID or insurance information on him."

"Right," Dean nodded to the air, "I'm on my way."

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Dean sat in the hospital waiting room with a ream of forms, feeling completely lost. He always tried to fill these out as truthfully as possible, except for the pesky things like 'name' and 'address.' Last hospitalization? Shit, he wasn't sure. Was that the last time something tried to strangle Sam or the last time something knocked out his baby brother? Dean scratched his head, trying to decide.

His eyes wandered regularly from the forms to the door they took Sam through. God, there had been a lot of blood. But head wounds were like that, he knew. He tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that it probably looked worse than it was. Dean checked his watch. Three hours. It had taken the admitting nurse over an hour just to convince him to sit his ass down to fill out these freaking forms. Not that he was in any big hurry. Really, he was hoping they would come get him and Sam could fill out his own damn forms. He was better at them anyway. Dean never could remember which injury happened first because – hey – as long as you survived what did it matter?

"Dean!"

What was that? Dean's head snapped up. That sounded suspiciously like a panicked Sam.

"Dean!" Sam burst through the white doors, white wrapping around his head, looking like a frenzied half-wrapped mummy. Still clad in his jeans but nothing from the waist up, he stood in the doors, wide eyes looking around the room frantically. "Deeeeeeeeean!"

Dean stood, all too aware of the fact every eye in hearing range was on his brother. "Sam?"

"Dean!" Sam darted to him, tripping over people and chairs on the way.

"Sam, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded, wondering why his brother looked so damn clumsy. He decided that must be a result of the nasty knock Sam took to the head.

"Dean," Sam looked visibly relieved. Then he did something damned strange. Sam bent over and wrapped his arms around Dean, pressing his head against Dean's chest.

Dean felt his heart pound in his chest. What. The. Hell? "Sammy?" he asked, his mouth gone dry.

"Mean lady," Sam whispered. Dean lowered his arms to touch his brother and found Sam was shaking. He tried to pat Sam's shoulders reassuringly as a woman holding a sleeping infant glared at him.

"What mean lady?" Dean asked, shooting the glaring woman a look of his own. It worked; she became very interested in that sleeping baby.

The white emergency room doors opened and a disheveled woman doctor stepped out. Her eyes scanned the room and fixed on Sam. Sam let out a small "eeep!" and circled around until he was on the backside of Dean. Dean watched with a mixture of increasing horror and worry.

The doctor let out a loud sigh as she approached them. Dean could feel himself change gears into big brother overdrive as Sam cringed behind him.

"Are you responsible for him?" She asked, gesturing to Sam who was having a pitiful time hiding his sasquatch body behind Dean.

"He's my brother," Dean replied defensively. One of Sam's hands let go of Dean's shirt to point frantically at the doctor several times. Dean patted Sam's arm. "Yeah, figured that out already," he muttered. He felt Sam's head nod into his back and the hand returned to clutching his shirt.

"Can we, uh, talk about this someplace a little less crowded?" Dean asked, nodding his head at the double white doors.

"Do you think he'll come with you?" She asked, her tone clear she thought that an impossible task.

"Sure. No problem," Dean assured her, though he was baffled by Sam's actions. When he tried to follow the doctor Sam stood his ground, clinging tight to Dean. With a disdainful look at an old man waiting impatiently for whatever, Dean spun around quickly, breaking Sam's hold. In the same movement, he put his little brother in a headlock and forced the giant brat to come along.

"Come on, Sam," he growled, hanging on tight. He knew Sam could easily break this hold, but his brother did not even try. Well, that was slightly reassuring. They followed the doctor, who smoothed her hair as she walked. Sam whined occasionally, but after Dean snapped a firm "shut up," he quit.

They reached a semi-private area. It was a glass enclosure that had two beds, both empty, separated by a white curtain. She motioned them inside. The closer they came, the more resistant Sam was. Finally, Dean stopped just outside the area and hauled Sam up to look him in the face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, shaking Sam. This was scaring the hell out of him.

Tears sprung to Sam's eyes and he bit his lip. Dean frowned; Sam had not acted like this, well, ever.

"Sammy?" He rested his hands on Sam's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "Sammy, you okay?"

Sam glared at the doctor, obviously quite upset with her. "Mean lady," he whispered.

"I'm here with you, Sammy, okay? Nothing will happen unless we say it's okay. Okay?" God, he felt like he was talking to a freaking three year old, but it was working. Sam nodded, moving back behind Dean.

"K, Dean," he whispered, hanging on to Dean's jacket. Dean shrugged at the doctor and led them into the room. She shut the doors behind them.

"Sit on the bed," Dean ordered. Sam shook his head, keeping Dean between him and the doctor. "Knock it off, Sam!"

Sam jumped on to the bed, long legs hanging off, silent tears running down his face. Dean breathed heavily, looking from Sam to the doctor and back. "Will somebody tell me what the hell is going here?"

"Mister Mahogoff, I am Doctor Jeffries." Even without Sam's reaction to her, Dean did not like her. Doctors who sounded like that were always assholes, regardless of gender or hotness, and she did not have the second option going for her anyway. "And I want to know why you did not inform us about your brother's, well, condition."

"He got hit by a car," Dean said hotly, "what else did you want to know?" Sam whimpered behind him. Dean shifted to place himself between Sam and the hostile woman. He felt Sam's shaking hand grab a fistful of his shirt.

"Not that!" Her eyes rolled expressively.

"What then!" he snapped. "And why the hell is my brother acting like he's about two?"

Her jaw dropped. Those beady, cold blue eyes shifted between Dean and Sam. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she regained the ability to speak. "You mean, this isn't normal? For him?"

Okay, now Dean was mad. "I think I would have mentioned that earlier," he ground out through clenched teeth. "So, you have him doped to the gills or what?"

"Dean?" Sam whispered from behind him.

Dean took a deep breath before turning around. "What, Sam?" He tried to keep his voice calm, neutral, but Sam still flinched. His brother's reaction stabbed through his gut, wrenching layer upon layer of guilt.

"Am I in trouble?" he whispered. "Is Dad gonna ground me?"

Dean took a step back. "Dad?" he asked. Again – What? The? Hell?

"I didn't mean to get hurt," Sam whispered, leaning over to stay out of the doctor's line of sight. "How mad is Dad?"

"Dad's not mad, Sam," Dean swallowed hard. "Can you wait here for a minute by yourself, Sammy? So I can talk to the doctor outside your room?" A look of panic came over Sam's face. "We'll be right outside the door, Sammy, you can see us. Okay? That all right? I promise, I won't go anywhere."

Sam bit his lip, thinking it over. Finally he nodded. Dean let out the breath he had been holding. "Good. Now stay here."

"You won't leave me?" Sam called after him.

"I'll be right here, Sammy," Dean assured him, sliding the glass partition shut.

As soon as the door was closed, Dean turned on the doctor. "What the hell is going on?"

"This is not normal?" She asked again.

"Hell no, this isn't normal!" Dean struggled to keep his voice low, if for no other reason than to not freak Sammy out. "My brother had a full frigging ride to Stanford! Now what the hell happened to him?"

"It must be a result of the head injury," she concluded. "He mentioned your father. Your reaction was rather, um, severe."

Dean looked away. "Our dad. Died. A few months ago." He turned back to check on Sam. When he looked, Sam gave him a little wave. Dean tried to smile back, but it was difficult.

"Amnesia," she said, like a cat pouncing on a feathered toy.

"Excuse me? Isn't that where you totally lose your memory?" Dean asked, turning to face the doctor.

"There are many different types of amnesia," she explained, scribbling away on her clipboard. "Your brother may have regressed to an earlier, safer time in his life. In childhood. You're lucky he still remembers you.

"I want to run some more tests, including a CT scan. We were trying to get him on the platform to do one when he bolted, screaming for you." She shook her head, as though if she had figured this out earlier that might have been avoided. Doctor Jeffries looked up at Dean. "You will be assisting us with this, won't you? Your brother is proving to be, ah, a bit of a handful."

"Tell me about it," Dean muttered. "I'll help with anything that will help Sammy." He pressed a finger into her shoulder. "But you have to stop scaring him," he warned as he returned to Sam's room. When he stepped inside and shut the door, Sam visibly relaxed. "Hey, Sammy."

"Can we go now, Dean?" Sam asked, anxiety lacing his voice.

"Not yet, little brother," Dean replied. He hopped up to sit next to Sam. "They want to run a few tests first. Then we'll go." He swung his legs next to Sam's. After a few swings, Sam's legs were swinging in sync with his. He glanced over. Sam offered him a small smile.

"Will it hurt?" Sam asked in a small voice.

"Shouldn't," Dean said. "Your head hurt?"

Sam nodded, concentrating on swinging his legs.

"Sammy? What's your name? Your real name?" Dean asked, carefully avoiding Sam's eyes in case his face gave his concern away.

"Sammy Winchester. Why wouldn't I use my real name, Dean?" Sam asked, eyes wide.

"It's a game, Sammy," Dean explained. "I told that doctor, the mean lady, our last name was Mahogoff. You need to remember that."

"Oh!" Sam kept swinging his legs with Dean. He giggled. "Does that mean we won't have to tell Dad?"

"I promise not to tell Dad, if you agree to do what the doctors tell you," Dean offered. It was weird talking to Sam this way. It was like talking to Sam and not-Sam at the same time.

"You – you're not gonna leave?" Sam's voice broke as he asked.

"No, Sam. I'll do whatever you want me to do," Dean promised. Sam nodded, really grinning this time. "Sammy? Do you remember how old I am?"

Sam frowned. His legs stopped as he concentrated. He looked down and shook his head. "Sorry, Dean."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. His hand rubbed in tight circles.

"Did I forget your birthday again?" Sam asked, looking anxious.

"No, Sammy. Don't worry about it." Dean sighed. "The doctor said you probably have amnesia. Know what that is?"

Sam's face puckered with concentration. "Is that where you forget stuff?"

"Yeah, it is," Dean tried not to show any enthusiasm for this small link to Sam, but it was difficult. "I guess you hit your head harder than I thought."

"How did I hit my head?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. "We can talk about that later, after we leave."

"Dean? Where do we live now?" Sam asked, panic creeping in his voice again. "I can't remember where we live!"

Dean spotted the doctor heading back their way. "Not now, Sammy. Maybe they're ready for your tests." A hand gripped Dean's arm tight. "Easy, Sammy," Dean patted his brother's hand. Returning to a crummy motel room did not bother Dean. They had pretty much grown up living in places like that. Sam would undoubtedly find it "normal" as defined by the Winchesters.