"Don't you remember?"
Send “Don’t you remember?” for my muse’s reaction to waking up in hospital with no memory of your muse, themselves or their life
"Don’t you remember?"
A blur of lights… metal hitting pavement on both sides before finally coming to a stop, glass shattering around him. The Impala had been left a mess, completely wrecked, pieces of what used to be his most prices possession now scattered along the streets. Blood trickled down a bruising, yet paling face. Somehow, by some miracle, his heart was still going. Incredibly faint, but still beating. Blaring the sirens, the ambulances, fire trucks and cops tried to make their way through to the scene, pushing aside some people that were already beginning to gather around. Whoever had been in the vehicle was presumed dead before they had even breached the Impala.
Surprising it must have been to find their assumption to be wrong. Yet the final moments that brought him to this state of mind had been nothing more than a suppressed memories. One that would most likely haunt his dreams, along with the monsters he hunted virtually his entire life. Flickers and flashes of Hell, of death would come and terrorize his dreams.
But now, all that terrorized him was the lack of knowledge… not knowing his name, where he came from. Did he even have family? Who was she?
From calm, his heart rate began to speed up, to become more erratic.
He couldn’t remember anything, nothing that would indicate who he was. For some reason, her voice seemed familiar, her scent. Little did he know that the ring around her finger was something he presented to her, that the woman who stood in front of him was the love of his life. He didn’t know that she had been someone who stood there from the beginning of this entire accident. The kisses, the scent, the voice. It belonged to her. These factors caused for him to calm, ever so slightly. Because in all of this, there was a sense of familiarity.
"Who am I?"
A name. He needed a name.
He had heard it a few times, whispered into his ear, telling him to wake up, to give them some sort of indication that he was listening, that there was some sort of hope that he would wake up and that he would go back to being their usual Dean.
Now that it came down to it, to try and think of a name, he couldn’t.
Drawing blanks were frustrating as Hell right about now. The thought that he probably had a big life, a life he couldn’t remember. What if he never remembered again?
Training his gaze onto her, he scanned her physiques. He couldn’t draw a memory of her, of the two of them together. And for some reason, he felt a pang of guilt because of this. Somewhere inside of him, he knew that he should be remembering her. She was special, and incredibly dear. But why? Was she a relative, lover?
"Who are you?”
