Title - Grazed Knees
Summary - Dean wakes up in a hospital without any recollection of who he is. Instead of an ID in his pocket, there are packets of salt; and the only thing he can remember is yellow eyes.
"Grazed Knees"
"Chapter One: The Rabbit Hole"
Piercing yellow eyes floated in his mind. He couldn't tell if it was a nightmare, a memory, reality, or just a figment of his imagination. They were there, pulsating behind his eyelids until he become conscious that his head felt as though a jackhammer chiseled its way into his brain. The sickening yellow eyes were forgotten, thrown back into the deepest corners of his mind as he dared to open his eyes.
The only thing he could make out was a smooth, white ceiling. Panic rose in him, not being able to understand where he was or how he got there. Breathing heavily, he heard a constant beep beep beep that seemed never-ending. Daringly, he turned his head to the right to see white walls and a door ajar. People were walking back and forth outside the room, wearing scrubs and carrying clipboards. The panic lessened ever so slightly. A hospital. Surely, he was safe in a hospital?
There was doubt in his mind though, his stomach twisting at the very thought of being in a hospital. He had no idea why he hated being there but knew he had to get out as quickly as he could. The panic that left moments before was back in full force. Feeling his heart pounding wildly in his chest, an overwhelming amount of alarm filled him for reasons he couldn't even imagine. He had to get out and had to get out now.
Without another thought, he started to claw at the IV in his arm with a shaky hand. They'd get him. They'd get him. Granted he had no idea who they were, but he defiantly feared for his life at that moment. The beeps were rushing together now, sounding faster every second he failed to rip the catheter out of his arm.
The rapid fluctuation of his heart rate must have alerted the medical staff since a couple nurses were suddenly at his bedside. They spoke to him, but he couldn't hear their words. Hands reached out, trying to stop him from causing any injury to himself or others. A male nurse pinned him down to the bed as the other nurses started to fasten restraints onto the bed. Sheer terror ripped through his body as hoarse screams escaped through his lips. They were in on it - all of them. They were going to turn him in, hang him out to dry by the skin of his neck. A white coat came at him and shoved a needle just below the elbow, pushing in liquid that immediately made his muscles go lax. With his eyes rolling up, everything became black.
His head was splitting as his eyes fluttered open to stare at the blurry white ceiling. Déjà vu filled him when he heard the consistent beep beep beeping. His throat was dry and itchy. Blinking several times, he realized that he couldn't move his arms. Gazing downward, he saw the restraints slipped around his wrists. Flashes of the nurses rushing into his room, the feeling of his tightened stomach, and the apprehension he felt came crashing into him. When the wave of helplessness washed over him, he felt and heard his heart rate speed up.
Twisting his wrists, he tried to wiggle his hands free. He wanted to leave. He had to leave. Breathing heavily, he tried to calm himself down. There was no reason for his paranoia. How would anyone or anything get him in a secured hospital? Anything? His mind raced. Why would he think that? Certainly, the boogeyman wouldn't get him… but what if there was a boogeyman? Mentally slapping himself, he tried to focus on the restraints and not allow his mind to wander off to the worst-case scenario what-ifs.
He saw a flash of a man walking by his room, and his stomach instantly went into knots. He stopped fiddling with the straps around his wrists and went completely still. Holding his breath, he watched as the doctor peered into the room. The doctor was a middle-aged man with peppery hair - the guy's bushy eyebrows raised up high into his hairline when he saw the patient was awake. Stepping inside, he made a beeline to the chart deposited at the end of the bed.
"You seem relatively calm today," doc commented as he flipped through the pages. "Can you tell me your name?"
He opened his mouth to respond but the words caught in his throat. His brow furrowed, a frown crossing his face. It was such an easy question, one that anyone should be able to tattle off their tongue without a second thought. Panic filled him again when he realized that he didn't know what the hell his name was. Shaking his head, he tried to recall how old he was, what the date was, what state he was in. He tried to think if he had a brother or a sister… if his parents were still alive. Closing his eyes tightly, he attempted to figure out if he had a wife or any kids. There was nothing. The last thing he could remember was waking up in the hospital room and freaking out.
"Do you remember anything at all?" the doc asked with sympathy dripping thickly off his words.
There was nothing except a large empty hole in his mind. He could feel the tears prickling his eyes, but he forced them to stay at bay. Somehow he knew he was a guy that didn't cry under any circumstance. No, that wasn't right. He'd cried before but tried to never allow people to see him cry. He didn't understand the thought processes that were whirling through his mind. First, there was the unexplained paranoia. Now, there was the fact that he knew something about his personality when he had no clue what his name was.
"It's okay. You just have a bout of amnesia." Doc jotted some notes onto the chart. "My name is Doctor Hudson. I'm going to order some tests for you: an MRI, a CT, an EEG, and a PET. Are you okay with that?"
He couldn't say that he wasn't, because he knew he didn't have choice in the matter. Despite the fact that the twisting didn't seem to ease at all but only tighten so much that it was harder to breathe, he knew he had to stop fighting. They couldn't help him, find out how long the amnesia would last, unless he met the doctors at least halfway. He also knew he should say something to acknowledge the fact that he wouldn't go Norman Bates on the staff again but he didn't have the heart to open his mouth. Bad idea was written all over the situation for some odd reason that was held hostage within his mind.
"Sure," he finally replied dully, "and I'll even be on my best behavior."
Keeping true to his word through the tests, the restraints were taken off his bed. He sat up, trying to break the brick wall that built itself around his memories. The clothes he wore when he was first brought in were presented to him: faded jeans, a black t-shirt, a green button down shirt, a leather jacket, some biker boots, a weird looking amulet, and a silver ring. There was no wallet or any form of identification. There were, however, three packets of salt in the jeans pocket.
He looped the amulet around his neck. Some of his anxiety seemed to lessen. He slipped the ring on his finger and kept the salt just in case. Somehow, the packets of salt brought him a strange sense of comfort. The nurse who was with him in the room at the time gave him a queer look when he asked to hold onto the salt but said nothing. He was grateful, because he knew that he couldn't explain the peculiar obsession to have the salt close to him at all times.
He tried sleeping that night and hoped that his memory would be back the next morning. Sourly disappointed when he woke only to find the black haze was still hovering over his mind. He rubbed the ring with his thumb, his eyes closed as though the memory of how he got it would manifest itself if he rubbed it long enough. When that didn't work, he went on to the amulet that rested on his chest.
Somehow, he knew it was a Mesopotamian protection amulet. The charm was the Bull-man who fought off evil and chaos. It frustrated him to no end that he could remember what the thing was and what it was used for but couldn't for the life of him figure out his name. Sighing, he ran a weary hand through his short hair as another thought crashed into him. He had no idea what he looked like. That unsettling notion ate away at him for a good hour before a nurse came in to check on him. He asked for a mirror, and she pulled a small compact out of her pocket. She definitely gave him the mother of all pity looks.
Another two hours passed before anyone else came in. A group of young interns flocked around his bed with a resident. A petite female with blonde hair twisted on top of her head started prattling off his sob story about how he couldn't remember anything and how his tests came back clean. There was no evidence that he had any physical trauma to the head, no drugs or alcohol in his system, no traces of any diseases or infections as of yet, no reduced blood flow to his brain. The only thing it could be was from emotional trauma but that seemed unlucky because little Blondie stated in most cases only certain events were forgotten and not whole lives when dealing with an emotional aspect.
When the interns turned to leave, he flagged down the resident that was with them. She quickly gave instructions, directing them on what medical cases they were to be on, before she turned her full attention to him. Giving a soft smile as though to tell him he could speak, she leaned in ever so slightly to him.
"I… I remember what this is," he told her as he fingered the amulet. "I don't remember who gave it to me or when but I know what it is. Is that a good sign?"
He watched as the soft smile quickly became a frown. The spark of hope he felt was stampeded by a bunch of raging bulls. The amulet slipped from his fingers as he tried to keep the disappointment off his face. He couldn't show weakness to her. He was strong, not weak. How is it that he could remember abstract things about his personality or about the necklace but be given no hope that the amnesia is slowly deteriorating?
"You have what is called retrograde amnesia," she started. "That means that you can't recall anything before you woke up in the hospital. It also seems, however, that you have what is called source amnesia. With that, you can recall certain information, but you don't know where or how you got it like in the case with your necklace. You know what it is and what it represents, but you can't remember how you got that information."
Sarcastic, bitter comments filled his mind, but he refrained from using any of them. Tightening his jaw, he simply jerked his head to show that he understood what she said. She patted his shoulder and told him to give it time before she left the room. Give it time. She wasn't the one in the situation. He thought about how he could get out of the hospital because his insecurities about the place kept creeping up. The doctors didn't know what to tell him, how to help him, so why should he stay? There was no use.
That night, he flipped through prime time television. Convinced that if the doctors don't have any suggestions by tomorrow, he's going to haul ass out of the hospital before it was too late. The morbid thoughts kept filtering through his mind. Too late. His mind made it sound like someone was going to bust into the place to kill him or something outlandish like that. The more he thought about it, the more jumpy he became. Turning off the television, he decided just to call it a night. Glancing at the bedside table, he made sure that the salt packets were still there before settling down into the bed. Things always looked better in the morning, didn't they?
The interns made their rounds, restating everything that was said the day before. He watched them. Their enthusiasm of the previous day was gone - guess he was old news. He thought about pulling the resident aside again, the one who treated him like he was an abused puppy, but thought better of it. He couldn't go demanding answers and quick fixes when he didn't even know the name of the hospital he was staying out or what town he was in. He'd need to ask those questions since he hadn't asked any questions that didn't relate to amnesia since he arrived. Hell, he didn't even know how he got to the hospital in the first place. Someone must have brought him in.
He sat by himself for nearly three hours, being left to his own devices which were few. Forcing his mind to remember, he thought of piercing yellow eyes that caused his heart to instantly beat faster and for him to consciously reach for the salt. Twirling the packets between his fingers, his heart sank when he remembered that salt didn't have any effects on demons with yellow eyes. The words flooded into his mind before he could stop them. Tossing the packets aside, he started going through his options on why he was thinking the things he was. Perhaps, he was a mental patient who escaped after staying there his whole life. That would be one huge emotional trauma that one would want to forget, right? He contemplated on whether or not to tell a doctor the awful things that ran through his mind like a hampster in his wheel.
A nurse walked into the room, a small brunette. He was relieved because he didn't think he could take another minute alone with his all-consuming thoughts of dread and doom. So he watched the nurse go about her business and couldn't help but think he'd met her someplace before. He got his hopes up that she knows him for only a brief couple seconds before he somehow realizes that he has never gotten a break in his whole life. The way she smiles at him though, the way his heart gets a funny beating when he looks at her, he knows that he knows her from somewhere.
"I'm the guy with amnesia," he introduced himself because it was better than being called 'The Guy Who Flipped Out the First Day' or 'The Guy with the Weird Necklace' or 'The Hott Mute Guy' or simply 'John Doe Number Two' because apparently there was an unconscious guy several rooms down from him who was just as pathetic as he was.
"I know," she responded in a familiar voice as her smile grows wider.
Apparently she hadn't heard the tales of him yet. She obviously didn't hear about his freak out the first time he woke up or the fact that he was known to keep his mouth shut and not say anything. The other nurses didn't gossip to her yet about how he just rubs his ring and necklace all day trying to jog a memory or the fact that he just sits around in bed moping while watching crap TV because the hospital didn't get the channels that showed the good stuff like Matlock, Dragnet, and MacGyver.
"Sucks to be me, huh?" He paused for a few seconds. "Where are we exactly?"
"Lawrence Memorial in Lawrence, Kansas."
Just at the name of the city, he wanted to leave more than ever. It wasn't because he was afraid something or someone was going to get him in the hospital anymore. Now he couldn't help but think that he vowed he'd never set foot in the town again. Flashes of fire filled his mind. In the blazes, he could see the yellow eyes mocking him and an outline of a baby. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than the salt packets to be enough to save him since he didn't have a gun on him. Though, deep down inside, he knew he needed a specific gun with special bullets. He also knew that all the bullets had all been used so it was fruitless.
"What's the date?" he tried to keep his voice even and casual.
"August 17, 2007," she answered as she sat down on the corner of his bed. "Anything else?"
He knew he wasn't one for asking questions. Actually, he could picture himself being the type of guy who'd rather drive around aimlessly instead of stopping and asking for directions. He knew that he didn't ask questions but he always tried his best to answer them. He could hear a childish voice in his head asking him questions that he couldn't comprehend. The kid's voice wouldn't stop asking questions, so he tried to push the endless inquiries into the back of his black hole of a mind.
"Do you know me?"
"I know that you're the guy with amnesia," she said lightheartedly as though not to put too much of a damper on him.
"You seem familiar," he told her with a slight shrug, "like I know you. Maybe I'm just making up memories now though. Is that possible?"
"Yeah, I think it's called false memory syndrome or something similar to that."
"Great. Not only am I the freak who can't remember his own name, I'm now the psychotic guy who's making up his own memories," he said jokingly. "I'm such a catch, aren't I?"
"You just need something to jog your memory."
He was about to say that maybe she could jog his memory and quirk his eyebrows up and down but thought better of it. He hadn't really talked to anyone since he arrived in the sterile hellhole, and he rather liked talking to her. She hadn't told him, 'just give it time' like the rest so he knew there was hope for her yet. He didn't want to scare her away by insinuating he wanted to have hardcore sex with her. Though, the action itself seemed very familiar to him.
"What's your name?"
"Carmen. Carmen Porter."
The name hit a chord in his mind and vibrated wildly. He knew that name, knew the face that went with it. There was no way in hell that he didn't know her from his pre-amnesia life. He squinted his eyes at her, trying to jog his memory on how he knows her. The black storm in his head didn't clear at all though, not even a little bit. There was still nothing but something in the darkness seemed to flicker ever so slightly for a split second.
"You're sure we don't know each other?" he questioned her.
He wanted her to cock her head to the side and burst out with an 'Oh! We went to high school together! I can't believe I forgot a handsome devil like you!' but knew that he didn't know her from school. It was another thing that he just knew but didn't know how he knew it. Those moments were the most irritating moments, and it had only been a few days since he was admitted.
"When I was in nursing school," she started to say looking a little more than sheepishly, "I did these modeling gigs to pay for my education. It started out as ads for the El Sol beer company and then became some lingerie and bathing suit spreads. You probably saw me in some magazine. I'm sorry."
The explanation made sense and the sorrowful expression gracing her features made him feel a little guilty for pushing the matter. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he knew her not from a magazine but from somewhere else. Maybe he was just a pervert who fantasized about her in his dreams. Quickly, he shoved that thought away. It didn't sound right to him. He's sure he's fantasized before but not with her. She was different somehow.
"Must be," he commented.
"That's good though, that you remember seeing me before. It's a great sign."
"I don't know. I remember a lot of things, insignificant things, but I can't remember my name or if I have any family. How screwed up is that?"
"Well, at least you have things from your past that can help you remember."
She gestured to the amulet and the ring. Sure, he had them - he even understood the amulet. They were only things though and didn't tell him who he was. He knew that they meant a lot to him, knew that he rarely took them off in his life once upon a time, but he didn't know why. He didn't know the answers to the burning questions, the important ones. Instead, he knew useless information and knew the fact that he was quite possibly certifiable. That didn't really help him in the least.
"Yeah," he agreed because he didn't feel like telling her his sob story. Even if he did feel like talking, getting a chick-flick moment on, he oddly knew that he'd rather slit his own throat before succumbing to talk about his emotions.
"Anything else before I go finish my rounds?"
"Yeah, do you know how I became imprisoned in lovely Lawrence Memorial?"
"You were actually found unconscious in an abandoned warehouse. A couple of teenagers were snooping around and found you. They ran down the street, used a pay phone to call 911, and then bolted. At least, the police think they were teenagers because who else would wander around dangerous warehouses like that?"
"Me apparently," he replied.
He smirked softly, knowing that he would do something like that. He didn't exactly know why but he just knew that it sounded like something he would do. Growling mentally in frustration, he locked that bit of information and the small corner of his brain marked post-amnesia madness. Just once, when he realized something about himself or had one of his crazy thoughts, he'd like the answer to the why.
"Apparently."
"So, one last question and I'll let you go flirt with the other pathetic patients." He flashed her a smile. "Is this a one time thing because you feel sorry for me or will you come visit me again?"
"I'll come again. It is part of my job, you know."
"Are you going to visit because it's your job or because you find yourself drawn to me?"
"I thought you already asked your last question."
"I have amnesia, I'm sorry. I don't remember saying that," he joked as she laughed.
"A little of both."
"Last question, I promise this time. You going to bring me some entertainment, because this hospital has crap stations."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Oh, Candyland, Monopoly, strip poker…"
"I'll see what I can do," she replied with a chuckle as she patted his leg before standing up.
He watched her leave the room, the knots and twists in his chest coming undone ever so slightly. Maybe he could deal with staying in the hospital a couple more days. If anything evil came, he had salt with him. Most evil things were repealed by salt after all. Even if the looming yellow eyes couldn't be scared away by salt, he could always run. He was a fast runner - he knew that somehow.
All the thoughts about evil and yellow eyes made him feel queasy. He felt normal talking to Carmen, felt like he could overcome with whole no memory thing. Now that he was alone, he couldn't stop thinking about doom and gloom. He knew he must be the world's worst pessimist if he couldn't stop thinking about how to repeal demons and other baddies. The real question was: how the hell did he know so much about the crap? Maybe everything he was thinking was all false memories, because he was that desperate to remember who he was. He shook his head. That didn't sound like him. Smacking his head into the backboard, he wandered why that didn't sound like him. Why was there always that little voice in his head that told him the most random information about himself or the most useless facts about salt and demons? Where the hell was his family when he needed them?
First off, I'm not a doctor but did a lot of research on amnesia. If I have inaccuracies, then please let me know so I can fix it. Anyways, let me know if I should continue with this. I've been holding off posting it for a couple weeks now since I have another chaptered story in the works but that's nearly finished so I do need a project to fill its place. If you leave a review and you're logged in, I will respond to it. So reviews are welcomed (as is constructive criticism).